


Poetic Masks

by agetwellcard



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Timeline Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is when it starts to crumble. Where Brendon’s last hope is taken away from him by another blonde in off-brand stilettos and wrists like twigs. Where Brendon realizes that of course everyone was right. Where Brendon doesn’t want to believe that everything he needs lies in another person who can’t even keep a promise. (a timeline fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I reread Invisible Monsters and this is what happened. It is severely out of order but, for the record, I did that on purpose. Hopefully it all makes sense, though. I tried to keep it as cannon as ryden fic can get, so like I stuck to actual events and timelines.
> 
> EDIT: if you want to read the version of this fic that is actually in chronological order, then go to the next chapter and find it there. It might be less confusing.

Brendon hums something old under his breath as he makes his way into Ryan’s house. The doors are open like usual, and Brendon feels like he’s getting home from work, waiting to sit down at the table for a meal with Ryan and a glass of wine. Brendon’s even tempted to yell, “Honey, I’m home!” so that he can explain all of this to Ryan, about how happy he is to be with Ryan _finally_.

 

He quietly looks around the house, slipping his shoes off at the door right next to Ryan’s, hoping maybe to sneak up on Ryan, to catch him reading or watching TV. There’s a distant thumping noise coming from the back of the house, where Ryan’s room and his bathroom are, and Brendon furrows his brows and walks in the direction.

 

He doesn’t think much about just barging into Ryan’s room because it’s almost like it’s his room too now. There’s regret. Red hot regret flashes through him the second the door gets opened, his smile faltering too much when the view in front of him is revealed.

 

It’s Ryan, stretched over a box-kit-blonde girl, legs possessively wrapped around hers. She has her hands on his back, nails poised over the flesh, waiting to scratch down as Ryan pushes into her. Her eyes are closed, eyelashes too long against her cheek to be real, so she doesn’t notice Brendon’s entrance.

 

 _Brendon_ doesn’t want to notice his entrance.

 

This is when it starts to crumble. Where Brendon’s last hope is taken away from him by another blonde in off-brand stilettos and wrists like twigs. Where Brendon realizes that of course everyone was right. Where Brendon doesn’t want to believe that everything he needs lies in another person who can’t even keep a promise.

 

And maybe it’s not the end, but it’s definitely when it starts to crumble.

 

***

 

When Brendon first meets Ryan, he spends most of his time aweing at him. Brendon was sheltered for a better part of his life and Ryan, though he isn’t even eighteen yet, seems much more mature and sophisticated.

 

It intrigues Brendon so much that he ends up feeling nervous and intimidated whenever he’s forced to converse with Ryan. Brendon finds himself critiquing every little thing he does when he’s around Ryan. He wants to seem mature and cool, even if he has to miss rehearsals to go to church picnics.

           

Brendon wouldn’t really consider himself gay, or even questioning, when he first meets Ryan. He likes girls and he likes watching their cleavage peek out and he likes their legs, and it’s just something Brendon _knows_. Ryan is different and Brendon could never really explain it.

 

One night, after practice at their newly acquired rehearsal space, Brendon embarrassingly hides a blanket in his backpack. He has been spending the past few nights at his friends’ houses, but he doesn’t want to bother them anymore. He is paying for the space, so it’s only fair that he can stay there for the night.

 

Ryan has the same idea.

 

They spend the night on the hardwood floor, their blankets completely unnecessary in the hot room, and their backs sore.

           

Ryan seems antsy, and Brendon notices it right away because Ryan always seems to have a tight grip on his composure. One second, Brendon and Ryan are talking about Spencer’s girlfriend, and then Ryan just starts spewing out words.

           

“I think I’m gay,” he tells Brendon in a hushed voice. “I haven’t really told anyone…I’m just not sure about everything right now.”

           

Brendon’s not so tight on keeping his composure perfect. He’s taken aback by this comment; especially one that seems so rushed and obviously held in for so long. Brendon never thought that Ryan would be gay, and he really didn’t think that Brendon would be the first to be told about it.

 

Brendon thinks _, it is three-fifteen in the morning and Ryan just told me he’s gay_. And then he goes on to only thinking about Brokeback Mountain because that’s honestly the only thing he’s heard of with gay people.

 

“God, please don’t make this weird,” Ryan sighs, looking away and running a hand through his bed-head. “I’m not gonna, like, rape you in your sleep or something, Bren. I just want someone to know. I mean, I could’ve told Spencer but…he would want to know why he didn’t get told sooner. And maybe it’s because you don’t listen as well as him, and I’m hoping that you forget this by the time we wake up. I just really needed to tell someone. Please don’t tell anyone. Fuck. No one can know.”

           

Brendon stares at a forlorn looking Ryan Ross, his eyes not daring to meet Brendon’s. The look on his face makes Brendon’s throat close up. It’s obvious that Ryan feels trapped, and there’s no way Brendon is missing the opportunity to strengthen his friendship with the older boy.

           

“Hey, Ry, I don’t care. I won’t tell anyone.”

           

This is when things really start.

 

***

 

Brendon goes home with Ryan when they fly home from a show in New York, one of their arena shows that somehow got sold out just for a few guys wearing makeup and some dancers. Brendon doesn’t necessarily want to see his parents yet, even if they have managed to partially hash out most of their issues. Brendon just needs a little longer before going back to bible verse and Sunday mass central.

 

When they get to Ryan’s house, they find Ryan’s dad and a man Brendon doesn’t recognize. It’s late, maybe one in the morning, and it’s not like they were expecting anyone to be up, so Ryan still has makeup smudged on his face, and his hair is flat, and when sees the two of them sitting there, Ryan feels like he’s shaking next to Brendon.

 

Brendon notices the bottle of wine sitting between them, two stemmed glasses at either end of the table.

 

“Ryan!” The younger man gets up, going over to give Ryan a quick, one-armed hug. “I wouldn’t usually be here this late, but Dad said you were getting back tonight, and I thought we could catch up.”

 

Ryan’s looking behind this man, looking at his father at the kitchen table, his stern eyes set on the wine bottle in front of him. “Um,” Ryan finally mumbles out.

 

“Sorry,” the man says, looking towards Brendon. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Jordan, Ryan’s half-brother. You’re one of his bandmates, right?”

 

Things finally seem to click together for Brendon as he shakes Jordan’s hand and nods. “Yeah, I’m Brendon,” he answers.

 

“Oh, yeah, Ryan’s told me a lot about you,” Jordan says eagerly.

 

No one misses the way Ryan’s dad scoffs, loud and obnoxious, and it makes the color drain from Brendon and Ryan’s face.

 

Jordan definitely looks awkward, clearing his throat and then going, “So, hey, you guys want to sit down, have a glass of wine, and talk?”

 

Brendon looks to gauge Ryan’s reaction on his answer, but all he gets is Ryan instantly freezing, his face contorting in anger right before he swipes the bottle of wine from the table and running off. Brendon feels like a lost puppy, so he only just follows, like he’s in on all of this too, even when he has no idea what the fuck is going on with Ryan.

 

In the bathroom, Ryan’s pouring out the wine with shaky hands, some of it not even making it into the drain and really onto the counter and on Ryan’s white t-shirt. Brendon doesn’t know what to do, so he just ends up staring until Jordan rushes in and grabs the bottle from Ryan, spilling more onto the ground during the scuffle.

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Jordan hisses.

 

“Not having a drink with you _or_ him,” Ryan says stubbornly, his little body still trembling.

 

Jordan just sighs. “You know, you could try to be civilized for once. Dad’s never done anything bad to you, yet you always act like a little kid whenever you see him. I just…I don’t understand.” 

Brendon blinks and thinks, _does he not know?_

 

Ryan keeps quiet now, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

 

Jordan puts the bottle down next to Ryan. “Keep it, you could probably use it,” he spits, turning to walk away.

 

“I don’t drink,” Ryan says instantly.

 

Jordan pauses, turns halfway around, and says, “Well, then you should start. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a dick all the time.”

 

Once Jordan is gone and Brendon’s head is spinning with questions he probably shouldn’t ask, Ryan picks up the wine bottle with two unsteady hands and brings it to his lips. He ends up choking and making a more mess of his shirt, the front nearly all stained red now.

 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Brendon breathes out, his brain finally working again. He cautiously closes the bathroom door and rushes over to Ryan’s limp body that’s now crumpled on the floor next to the sink, head in his hands, bottle clanging to the ground next to him.

 

“He thinks I’ve lived the perfect life, Brendon. He thinks…“ Ryan gasps out in between the long, drawn out sobs falling from his lips. “Why did it have to be me? I’m never gonna end up like my dad. I swear to God, I’ll never do what he did to me.”

 

Brendon realizes that he’s speaking about his father’s alcoholism. Ryan’s talked briefly about it before, used to come to band practice with black eyes, but never went into detail. Brendon knew that it had to be bad if Ryan would spend nights on the dirty floors of their practice space instead of going home. Now, though, Brendon realizes that Ryan’s half-brother doesn’t even know about it and definitely doesn’t understand why Ryan would freak out about having a glass of wine with his father.

 

“It’s okay now, Ryan,” Brendon soothes, trying to take off Ryan’s sticky shirt without things becoming awkward.

 

Ryan finally looks down to the blood-red stains and whispers, “I’ve been shot.”

 

Brendon smiles crookedly and finally gets his shirt off, Ryan’s bare, pale chest making him look even more vulnerable. Brendon takes off his hoodie and hands it to Ryan. He looks at it for a few moments before finally slipping it on, wrapping his arms around his torso tightly.

 

“It smells like you,” he whispers to Brendon.

 

Brendon tries his best to not make this awkward because, fuck, Brendon’s over his weird crush he has on Ryan. “Yeah,” Brendon mumbles. “I would hope so. I’ve been wearing it all day.”

 

Ryan gives Brendon a small smile, like he understands and even appreciates what Brendon’s trying to do, but then he says, “My dad probably thinks you’re my boyfriend, you know. Probably thinks we’re fucking right now.”

 

“Well, we’re not, so whatever,” Brendon snaps automatically. He instantly regrets it because of how bitter it sounds.

 

Ryan looks over at Brendon unexpectedly, slowly eyeing him, and then says, “Stand up.”

Brendon, being so fucking willing, jumps up. Ryan does the same and then steps so close to Brendon that their chests are touching, and leans his forehead against Brendon’s, and Brendon can smell the wine on Ryan’s breath.

 

“Let’s just get it out of our system, okay?” Ryan whispers hotly. “We’re gonna do this…and then that’s it. We can’t, not anymore, not after today because I’m not gay, and you’re not gay, and we’re just confused.”

 

Brendon wants to tell him so badly that Brendon’s not sure about any of those things expect for being confused—Brendon doesn’t need anyone to tell him he’s confused—but before he can, Ryan leans forward just a little and suddenly they’re kissing, Ryan’s tongue fighting its way into Brendon’s mouth.

 

Ryan abruptly pulls apart and looks down to his hands, which are unbuckling Brendon’s jeans, and then pulling them, and his boxers, down until they’re completely out of the picture. Brendon can’t even breathe as he watches Ryan get back on the floor, on his knees, and then bites his lip slightly before bringing his hand up to Brendon’s half-hard dick.

 

“I’ve never done this before,” Ryan tells him quietly. “So, don’t, you know…”

 

Brendon’s not entirely sure what Ryan meant to say next. To laugh? To come on his face? To not let Ryan choke on Brendon’s dick? Those ideas are enough for Brendon to completely lose it right there, but thankfully he doesn’t. He just nods his head eagerly and decides that he probably shouldn’t do any of those things.

 

Ryan slowly brings his mouth down on Brendon’s cock, and Brendon can’t even help but let his fingers curl into Ryan’s hair gently before he lets out a low moan. He does manage to realize that Ryan’s dad and his fucking half-brother are right in the kitchen, and that Brendon really shouldn’t be making noises.

 

Ryan doesn’t seem to be worried about it, his eyes closed as he brings a careful hand up to Brendon’s hips and puts the other at the base of Brendon’s cock, slowly moving it up and down on the parts where his lips don’t get to.

 

Brendon’s really only gotten blow jobs from a few groupies when he’s been wasted and desperate for anyone, but he’s completely sober now, and Ryan’s mouth is too good. Brendon knows that Ryan just said he’s never given a blow job before, but he must have watched a shit ton of porn and gotten a good idea because he isn’t nearly as sloppy or confused as the girls that usually give Brendon ones.

 

“Ryan, _fuck_ , so good,” Brendon moans before his brain can even tell him it’s a bad idea.

 

Ryan’s eyes snap open, looking up to Brendon with Brendon’s cock still in his mouth, and he can’t even help but to come, his eyes flickering shut as he sags against the sink and Ryan swallows his come. Ryan doesn’t even let him apologize for not warning him because he shoots up and connects his lips to Brendon’s. He can taste his own come in Ryan’s mouth and doesn’t even understand why that turns him on.

 

“Here,” Brendon mumbles once Ryan starts to suck on his neck, most likely leaving behind a bruise. Brendon unzips Ryan’s jeans, moving them down far enough to where he can feel Ryan’s hard on through his tight boxers, and he rubs it making Ryan choke a little and let the hand he has on Brendon’s waist turn into a claw.

 

Brendon remembers this from the first time they did this, which seems like forever ago, when Ryan and Brendon both got off embarrassingly fast. Everything is just a little more familiar and Brendon doesn’t even second guess the way his hand twists and how he kisses Ryan right before he comes.

 

After they’ve cleaned up, and right before they’re about to leave to Ryan’s room, Ryan pushes Brendon into the door and gives him one last long kiss, his fingers gently touching his face.

 

“It’s out of our system now,” Ryan says to Brendon before moving Brendon out of the way and exiting the bathroom.

 

The thing is, Brendon is almost positive it’s not out of his system at all.

 

***

 

Ryan and Brendon spend their time in Africa as far apart from each other as possible.

 

Brendon still feels sick just thinking of when he found Ryan sleeping with that girl after he told Brendon that he loved him, on multiple occasions. Ryan said they were exclusive. He told Brendon that they were finally in a relationship. He practically made all of Brendon’s dreams come true and then he ripped it away, like it was nothing.

 

He doesn’t even know why he believed it all. Ryan’s never been honest. The idea that Ryan could actually date someone without fucking other people is incredibly ludicrous.

 

It kills Brendon to be stuck with Ryan now on a tour, their words so clipped that Spencer and Jon make a point to keep them separated. Brendon tries to look like he’s honestly fine, and that Ryan didn’t completely tear him apart, his heart fucking bleeding out of his chest.

 

Ryan doesn’t need to pretend to be okay because Ryan is never okay so no one expects him to be.

 

Brendon’s always happy. People know him for being a jittery ball of energy. So Brendon puts on his best smile and walks around like there is absolutely nothing wrong. Right on cue, just after the fans have all disappeared and they’re all back in their hotel rooms, Brendon and Ryan both click off at the same time, usually hiding out in their rooms and staring at the ceilings until Spencer or Jon makes something to eat.

 

The tension only grows worse when they get back to the states. Ryan stays with Jon, and Spencer stays with Brendon, and Brendon tries to make music, wanting to piece something together to show Jon or Spencer but it doesn’t happen.

 

Brendon sees it coming. Everyone did. It’s only Spencer who gets the balls to tell Ryan that maybe it’s time they just called it quits. When Spencer tells Brendon how Ryan reacted, that he completely agreed, Brendon ends up punching the wall, his fist ending up bloody, only a slight dent in the wall. Spencer watches as Brendon slumps on the ground, the tears from the pain mixing with the tears of realization that the band is really over.

 

“Spencer,” Brendon whimpers. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t—can’t write like Ryan. I can’t make my own band.”

 

Spencer just stares down at him, looking frustrated. “Well, it’s not like the band’s gonna work now.”

 

Brendon doesn’t miss the way he says it, pointed at him, like it’s all _Brendon’s_ fucking fault why this is happening. Brendon partly knows he’s right, but the music wasn’t working either. They spent too much time arguing when they were writing music. The music is the problem, it’s not—

 

“What did you think was going to happen, Brendon?” Spencer says, leaning against the wall and sighing. “Did you really think that Ryan would love you? That he wouldn’t sleep with other people? You’ve known him too long to ever expect those things.”

 

Brendon doesn’t want to be reminded, God, he really tries to forget about the whole mess, but here is Spencer, saying it all _out loud_.

 

Spencer watches as Brendon wipes tears from his face, no doubt rubbing some blood from his knuckle onto his nose, right under his eyes, and goes, “It’s pathetic, really.”

 

Brendon jumps up at this, throwing a punch at Spencer with his bloody knuckles not even grazing the side of Spencer’s face before Spencer has him pinned to the ground, punching Brendon back with enough force to keep him from fighting back.

 

Brendon pinches his nose, blood now coming out and mixing with what was already on his face. “Okay, fuck, Spencer, just,” Brendon whines, pushing away from Spencer.

 

Spencer gets up, shakes his hand around, wincing and then saying, “Get your shit together, Brendon,” before leaving Brendon to lie on the ground and cry more.

 

***

 

Shit hits the fan for Ryan when Keltie finds out.

 

Ryan knew, somewhere in his busy mind, that Keltie eventually _was_ going to find out that he was cheating on her. He just wasn’t sure if it was actually going to be him to tell her. He gets his answer the day after Valentine’s Day.

 

Ryan didn’t mention much about it to Brendon, but Jon said that Keltie went through his phone and found some unsavory things about Ryan’s little double life he’s been leading.

 

Brendon can’t even help but to be excited. He feels like he’s been waiting for years to have a chance to be with Ryan. He knows the odds are so low and pitiful, but the thought of having Ryan to himself is overwhelming and Brendon can only spend his time dreaming up embarrassing domestic scenarios of the two of them.

 

He’s so drunk on hope that he completely misses Ryan’s life falling apart.

 

They’re still on tour, so Ryan doesn’t even know how to deal with all the crumbling pieces. It doesn’t surprise anyone to see him instantly clicking off the second they don’t have to be on stage or around fans or doing interviews. It feels like every night, Brendon watches him leave to go to a bar or party to get drunk and high.

 

Brendon tries to wait patiently. He doesn’t mention the many girls Ryan sleeps with, or that time when Brendon had to listen to Ryan and Alex fuck on the bus when they were headed to Maine. No, Brendon is a good boy, and waits for his turn. Brendon just wants to put him together and be the shining sun that Keltie was to him.

 

It isn’t even Brendon who initiates it, either. Ryan comes into his bunk one night, kissing Brendon abruptly. Brendon knows that the swelling in his chest isn’t just from the way that Ryan’s hands are sliding under his shirt. No, it’s Brendon’s fucking heart knocking into his rib cage because finally, Jesus Christ, _finally_.

 

Once they’re both out of their post-orgasm daze, Brendon can’t even help it but to whisper, “I’m in love with you,” into Ryan’s shoulder. He’s never told Ryan, and he always figured it would be after some romantic date or when Ryan shows up with flowers or something, but Brendon scared that he’ll never get the chance to tell Ryan later.

 

Ryan just tightens the grip he has on Brendon and whispers back, “I know.”

 

They stay close to each other, Ryan not leaving like Brendon had expected. Inside his bunk, for one night, Brendon tells Ryan everything that he’s neglected to since Ryan got with Keltie. Brendon whispers all his secrets into Ryan’s chest, and kisses his neck when he’s not sure what else to say, and he realizes that he could die right there in Ryan’s arms and he’d be okay with it.

 

Ryan doesn’t say much but Brendon can see he’s crying, red eyes shining with every lamppost they pass as the tour bus drives into some town in Florida. Brendon knows Ryan’s sad. Ryan’s the saddest person Brendon’s ever met. He doesn’t always show it, but Brendon’s sure of this, so much so, that he even tells Ryan.

 

Ryan just lets out a choked laugh and mutters, “Sounds about right.”

 

“I don’t care, though,” Brendon says, with only the purest innocence shining in his words. “I want to fix you, Ryan.”

 

This must spark something in Ryan because he’s suddenly squeezing Brendon tighter and letting out a sob. Brendon thinks that he might start to cry too.

 

“I love you.”

 

Brendon pauses, definitely catching the change in words on Ryan’s part. He knows what he just heard. Of course he has. He’s only been waiting for Ryan to say it to him for the past few years. Brendon wants to hear it again, though, so he goes, “What?”

 

“I love you too, Brendon,” Ryan says clearer this time. “I really fucking love you.”

 

Brendon can’t think of a moment he’s ever been happier.

 

***

 

Ryan’s ecstatic after Pete leaves. And sure, Ryan was pretty happy while Pete was around, but it was obvious that he was trying to suppress most of it so he didn’t look uncool or whatever.

 

Pete’s gone now, though, so Ryan keeps rushing around Brendon’s room, a giant smile on his face, ranting about the future.

 

“Just think about it, Bren,” he says, hands now on either of Brendon’s shoulders. “He said he might be able to tour with them. Tour with Fall Out Boy!”

 

Brendon smirks nervously, looking at Ryan’s face a few centimeters from his own. Brendon swears he’s never seen Ryan this happy. The look on his face is enough to make Brendon’s stomach fill with cliché butterflies. Fuck, Brendon really thought he was over this feeling.

 

Ryan starts to pace the room and says, “We need to start writing. Now. We need more songs.”

 

Ryan starts over to Brendon’s guitar, but Brendon sighs and goes, “Ryan, we have time. Let’s just watch a movie or something.”

 

After a little more persuasion, Ryan finally picks out a movie and then slips into the bed with Brendon, tugging at the blankets.

 

They’ve done this before. They always watch movies together, even if most of the time it’s with Spencer and Brent, too. Still, Brendon shouldn’t be so nervous next to Ryan, their arms touching as they watch the movie.

 

Brendon’s spent the better half of a year now ignoring how he feels, mainly because he’d rather not sort out his sexuality. It was never a question until Ryan showed up in his life. Now, though, Brendon can’t help but to think too much about Ryan. He knows it isn’t just some infatuation, a magnetic friendship or something. He can only relate his feelings to a crush. A fucking hardcore crush that makes Brendon want to vomit when he thinks too hard about it.

 

Ryan catches Brendon not looking at the TV, but rather Ryan’s face, and Brendon feels his own face grow hot. Ryan laughs a little, but doesn’t say anything about it, just goes, “I can’t wait to prove him wrong.”

 

Brendon knows he’s talking about his dad. It’s usually a sore topic for Ryan, and he’ll do anything to avoid it, but there are rare occasions where Ryan will tell Brendon a little about him.

 

“My parent’s probably won’t even care if we got famous,” Brendon snorts. “Probably just pray for me or something.”

 

Ryan smiles at me. “I’m serious,” he stresses. “I know we’re going to make it. Pete knew it, too. I’m just—Fuck, man.”

 

Ryan hides his face in Brendon’s chest, wrapping his bony arms around Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon can’t even help the way his heart swells. Ryan makes an excited noise, clutching tighter.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna smoke or something to celebrate? It’s not like pot’s gonna kill you,” Brendon mutters. Initially, getting high was definitely his celebration plans, but then Ryan wanted to come over and it’s not like Brendon was going to decline that, but Ryan’s got that whole straightedge thing going on.

 

Ryan pulls back. “There are other ways to celebrate,” he says slowly, giving Brendon a dark look.

 

Brendon freezes up because, fuck, what is that supposed to mean? Suddenly, Ryan looks like he knows all about Brendon’s silly crush. Brendon feels maybe a little pathetic because he and Ryan are _friends_ , nothing more, and for Brendon to want more, well that’s just not right.

 

Ryan just keeps looking at him, mouth parting just slightly, eyes falling to his lips and then back up to his eyes. Brendon’s brain instantly clicks off when he sees that, and he’s not really thinking when he leans in, lips landing awkwardly overtop Ryan’s.

 

Brendon thinks that Ryan’s mouth tastes like the fruit punch he was drinking at Del Taco, and also that he never wants to stop kissing Ryan. Like, ever. One of Ryan’s hands comes up to cup Brendon’s cheek right before he’s crawling on top of Brendon, legs straddling him.

 

Brendon can’t even be bothered to worry about his parents and siblings, all of which are home and can probably hear the low moan that Brendon lets out. They already hate him anyways.

 

“Is this okay?” Ryan asks as he starts to unbutton Brendon’s jeans.

 

And, that’s right, Ryan’s the one who’s partially come out, but Brendon really hasn’t ever indicated that he could possibly be interested in guys too. He figures it’s already pretty obvious now. Brendon ends up nodding his head embarrassingly fast before he starts to kiss Ryan’s neck awkwardly.

 

No matter how much Brendon likes to talk up his sex life, he’s actually painfully inexperienced at this kind of stuff. He’s really only gotten a sloppy hand job from a girl once, and he didn’t even return the favor, which made him so guilty that he completely ignored the girl afterwards.

 

Now, he bucks into Ryan’s hand that has made its way into Brendon’s boxers. Brendon suddenly realizes that this is actually happening. Before now, he figured that nothing would ever go on with Ryan and him, that all of Brendon’s embarrassing late-night fantasies were all folly. He wonders if maybe he should say something about it, how he’s totally jerked off to the thought of this.

 

He decides not to.

 

***

 

In seventh grade, Brendon was desperate for friends. He’d manage to ruin all the existing friendships he made in the previous school year. Brendon just wanted to sit next to someone at lunch again, to have someone to laugh with and cheat off of.

 

Brendon doesn’t manage finding any friends. He sits alone in all of his classes, which isn’t too awful, but in math, when the teacher finishes the lesson, everyone always gets in groups and works together and it kills Brendon to not have anyone to work with.

 

He’s good at math, too. Great, actually, especially since he has no to talk to or distract him during the lessons. So, when one of the boys in his class asks him if he knows the answer to question seventeen, Brendon’s confident as he says what he has and then goes on to explain how he got it when everyone looks at him with blank faces.

 

All of kids in the group start to ask him if he wants to join them. This overwhelms Brendon, gives him an ounce of hope that he’s finally going to make friends. He helps everyone with the homework, shows them the proper way to do everything, and the guys seem overjoyed with Brendon.

 

Brendon’s too caught up with the prospect of making friends that he doesn’t notice the way they get Brendon to just let them copy. He doesn’t notice the way they don’t include him in the conversations, and when Brendon tries to join they just shoot him down. He doesn’t notice the very blatant way they just use him for a good grade in math class.

 

One day, when Brendon is looking around the lunch room for a familiar face so he doesn’t end up eating in the library _again_ , he spots the kids from math class all huddled around a table. He tries to be cool about the way he asks them to sit down, to just eat lunch with them, but when they all shoot him down with menacing grins, Brendon definitely doesn’t feel cool.

 

This is when he realizes he’s messed up. These people we’re just using him. He was convenient. He could do something that they couldn’t, and he could do it well. They were never interested in him, only what he could do.

 

As Brendon leaves the cafeteria, hands curled up into fists, he tells himself he’s never going to be used again.

 

***

 

The club bathroom is shitty and smells like urine and vomit. Brendon runs a hand through his hair as he stares at his reflection briefly before he splashes some water onto his face. He must spend too much time staring at himself, though, because some asshole hisses, “Faggot” to Brendon before leaving the bathroom.

 

And, God, really hit the nail on the head with that one, buddy.

 

When Brendon turns around, face still wet from the water, he can see the group of people crowded around a corner. Brendon knows this game already. This isn’t his first time clubbing in Vegas. He kind of wishes it was, though, because his first time clubbing was a lot more fun than this.

 

He’s not addicted to the cocaine. It’s not like he’s trying to find a dealer and collecting business cards when he hands over crinkled twenties for a little pouch of white powder. He just like the way it makes him feel. It’s better than thinking.

 

Ryan used to tell him that kind of stuff right before he left to go to the bathroom. Brendon never understood. Ryan, the sob story kid who had enough tragedies to fill his entire head, the one who very explicitly stayed away from drugs and alcohol for so long, the one who really shouldn’t, being who he is, but always ends up doing it.

 

Brendon thinks about how he used to try cigarettes all the time when he was younger, smoked them half-heartedly to impress all of the wrong people, until one day he inhaled all the nicotine and he realized he couldn’t wait until the next party for another chance to smoke and he found himself in a gas station asking for a pack of Marlboros with a hesitant voice.

 

He knows there’s no way cocaine could turn into that.

 

Brendon does a line. Then another. And then he lets his head buzz for a few seconds, his eyes slipping closed as he practically vibrates. He starts to feel okay again, ends up dropping what’s left of the white powder to the ground and then walking off into the club.

 

The lights seem too bright, the music too loud, and it only makes Brendon want to dance and forget about everything. He finds himself in a sea of people, girls dancing up on him, not minding when his hands find their hips and pull them closer.

 

Brendon thinks that this is enough, that this is all he really needs. He doesn’t need anything Ryan can give him. He doesn’t need his love. He doesn’t want it. Not anymore. He’s perfectly fine on his own. Everyone wants him, and no one is going to turn down Brendon.

 

***

 

Brendon stays single during the recording and touring of Pretty Odd. He doesn’t want to think about boyfriends or girlfriends and definitely not Ryan Ross. So, he sticks to random hook-ups that only really happen when he’s on tour.

 

And maybe it hurts just a little to know that Ryan is perfectly fine with Keltie. They’re always talking, whether Keltie’s with them or if Ryan’s insistently texting her. It’s a classic power couple, and it makes Brendon sick. He likes Keltie, too, can’t even help it.

 

Brendon knows what Ryan’s doing her. Hell, the whole crew knows he’s cheating. Ryan gets away with it because he knows how to lie and to feel without guilt and he really learned it from the best.

 

When they get back on tour and when Keltie has to go back to New York to dance, Ryan spends his time writing endless melodramatic songs and hanging out with Alex Greenwald at seedy bars. Brendon sometimes comes along, when there are bigger groups.

 

Keltie does show up this night, though, a big surprise to everyone. Ryan does the good boyfriend part and holds onto her waist firmly and shows her off to everyone who doesn’t already know her name. When they stop to talk to Brendon for a while, he is nothing but a gentlemen, making Keltie laugh and everything. He tries to make Ryan laugh with jokes that only he would understand, to just maybe make Keltie a little jealous that she’ll never be as close to Ryan as he is, but Ryan doesn’t laugh.

 

Brendon looks over to where Ryan is staring very intently. It’s a pretty girl, tiny black dress on, and eyelashes done perfectly, and I don’t have to be told who she is. She’s got on these sad eyes, dangerously thinning when she peaks at Keltie.

 

“Who is she?” Keltie asks, oblivious as to what’s going on, that she’s looking at Ryan’s lover.

 

Ryan looks panicked, opening his mouth, but nothing’s coming out.

 

“She’s with me,” Brendon says. And, God, look at him, the big super hero he is. “I’ll just go now. Have a good night, guys.”

 

He waves goodbye, Keltie and Ryan looking satisfied, and heads towards the girl. Brendon’s never gotten her name, only really seen her around a few times, in the mornings before she leaves or when she stays on the bus for a night, so he doesn’t know what to say when he walks up to her. He extends his arm, for her to link with her own, and they stride outside, the November winds just a little too cold.

 

She sits down on the concrete, pulling off her purse and finding a box of cigarettes inside of it. She looks up to Brendon with a questioning glance, like she wants him to join her, and Brendon doesn’t really have any other plans tonight.

 

“You’re a good friend,” she tells me, voice sour as she lights the cigarette hanging from those pouty lips that Ryan must love.

 

“Not really,” Brendon mutters, because if he really was a good friend, than he shouldn’t have fallen in love with Ryan.

 

She offers him the cigarette, lipstick staining it, and Brendon takes it because he has nothing to lose anymore.

 

“Did you know?” Brendon asks her.

 

“I definitely knew I was a secret…I’ve just never seen her before,” she tells Brendon, laughing bitterly. “I know it’s silly, to let him do that, I just…I can’t quit Ryan.”

 

Brendon definitely thinks he can relate to that. He knows this girl loves Ryan. He saw the way she looked at him, and God, of course Brendon can just tell because it’s the same way he looks at Ryan. They both know that they’re never going to have Ryan. No one gets to have Ryan, not even himself.

 

“Yeah,” he Brendon agrees slowly. “He’s got this, like, magnetic personality, I guess.”

 

“He’s like _nicotine_ ,” she muses, taking a long drag.

 

Brendon’s never thought about it like that, but he realizes that it’s really the only way to describe what Ryan does to people.

 

“Everyone always find a way to quit Ryan, though. They always do. You never get to keep him.”

 

The girl smiles cynically at him, stubbing the cigarette on the ground. “Do you wanna go somewhere and fuck?”

 

If Brendon can’t have Ryan, he figures that his lover is as close as he’s going to get.

 

***

 

Brendon never really thought it was weird that Ryan and him got matching girlfriends at the same time. Ryan had a relentless crush on the girl, Jac, for what seemed like forever, so them getting together when Ryan had finally “made it” was no surprise.

 

It was just that Jac had a best friend, who was single and definitely wouldn’t mind dating Brendon. Up until that point, it wasn’t like Brendon had a line of girls queuing up to date up, so he jumped at the chance to have what he thought was a proper girlfriend.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Brendon was looking for an excuse to actually get Ryan out of his system.

 

Ryan never mentions those nights, the ones that Brendon spends way too much time thinking about, the ones that Ryan probably can’t even be bothered to remember, so Brendon doesn’t let those two time he gave his best friend hand jobs really stop him from getting a girlfriend.

 

The only time Brendon and Ryan get to see their girlfriends is when they’re in Vegas, which for once in their lives, it’s actually not that often. When they get the chance, when the girls are staying at a hotel in Los Angeles, they take it.

 

Brendon goes back to Ryan’s with him, expecting to go straight to the hotel after Ryan takes a shower. Jac calls though, and Brendon can hear her whiny voice even if Ryan’s phone is pushed into his ear. She wants them to go straight there, for Ryan to just take a shower at the hotel. Ryan hesitates for a moment, explaining that it would be easier to just do it at his house, but then she says something, something that Brendon doesn’t catch, something that makes Ryan still and draw in a choked breath.

 

Ryan quickly clicks off his phone and then they’re driving to Jac and Audrey’s hotel fifteen over the speed limit.

 

Brendon doesn’t actually figure out why Ryan suddenly changed his mind until they get to the hotel, and Jac is pulling Ryan into the bathroom, a devilish grin on her face.

 

And sure, Brendon has had loads of sex with Audrey since they started dating, and he doesn’t mind telling Ryan about it because Ryan certainly has no troubles returning the favor. But none of that means he wants to listen to Jac and Ryan have sex.

 

“So, where are we going?” Brendon asks Audrey nervously.

 

“Why wouldn’t we just stay here?” she giggles, pulling Brendon down on the bed. “It was my idea all along, anyways.”

 

Brendon can’t think straight with her hands now roaming his body freely. “Idea? What idea?” And, fuck, Brendon can hear the running water in the bathroom, and he tries really hard not to think about both of them in the shower together.

 

“Not really an idea, I guess,” Audrey mumbles, sounding much more coherent than Brendon does. Her hands are taking off Brendon’s clothes now, and Brendon can’t even be bothered to stop her. “It’s just, you know, we all have sex in the same room. Thought it would be hot.”

 

Brendon moans, can’t even help it, can’t even think about how Ryan is literally in the bathroom and can probably hear him.

 

“Guess I was right,” Audrey says.

 

Brendon starts to take off her shirt, instantly going to cup at her boobs. Brendon picks up his hips when Audrey is trying to get his pants off, and suddenly Brendon’s completely naked, but it’s not like he really cares.

 

Audrey doesn’t even bother taking off skirt, she just hands Brendon a condom to put on while she pulls up her skirt, sticking fingers into herself.

 

Suddenly, Ryan and Jac emerge from the bathroom, both naked, still wet, their bodies falling on top of the bed next to Brendon and Audrey. Brendon can’t even think. All he does is stare at Ryan, the way his hair is in his face, droplets of water everywhere.

 

“Come on, Brendon,” Audrey whines, motioning to the condom that he hasn’t even put on yet.

 

When Brendon finally gets inside Audrey, she’s on top of him, moving up and down, Brendon’s hands possessively tightening on her hips. Brendon can hear Ryan and Jac, the slick sounds of their bodies moving against each other and their moans, but when Brendon lolls his head back out of ecstasy, he’s suddenly at a perfect angle to watch Ryan.

 

Really, Ryan shouldn’t be the one that Brendon is staring at. It should be Audrey. Brendon can’t even help it, though, because Ryan’s _right_ there, pushing into Jac with those dark eyes that Brendon will never forget.

 

Audrey abruptly stops, pulling off Brendon and moving to the back of the bed, slipping off her skirt finally. Brendon thinks that things are going to resume and that Audrey really didn’t notice Brendon staring at Ryan, but it’s obvious she has.

 

“Jac,” Audrey says impatiently. Jac’s eyes flick open and Ryan stops fucking her, looking annoyed. “Jac, remember my plan? It’s definitely a good idea.”

 

Jac pulls away from Ryan excitedly, sitting up on the bed. She gives Brendon and Ryan a big smile and says, “You guys should make out.”

 

“What?” Brendon instantly vomits out, because, _no way_. Brendon wonders for a few terrifying moments if Ryan actually told Jac about one of _those_ nights.

 

“Come on, Jac. You’re gonna scare him,” Ryan says, letting out a low laugh.

 

“You just spent like ten minutes staring at him, Bren. Just go kiss him,” Audrey insists. Brendon goes deep red as Ryan gives him a smirk, like he’s known this already. “It’s okay. We’re not going to call you gay. We just think it’s hot.”

 

This is apparently all Ryan needs to come over to Brendon, put one firm hand on his shoulder and then kiss him. Brendon, being stupid like he is, melts into it, hands instantly reaching out to touch Ryan because it feels like it’s been forever since he’s been allowed to.

 

Ryan has no issues getting his tongue into Brendon’s mouth, and Brendon tries really hard to hold in his moan, but it still comes out, making the girls whisper excitedly to each other. Brendon can’t be bothered to care about what they think of him because he finally has Ryan to touch again.

 

Ryan’s hair is still damp, presumably from the shower, but probably from sweat too. Brendon’s hands fumble around until they’re on Ryan’s hips, moving lower, hand on his dick, easily moving up and down on his length.

 

Ryan lets out a choked noise, pushing away from Brendon, stumbling into Jac who’s right behind him, a smirk on her face.

 

“Brendon’s enthusiastic about this,” she laughs, making Audrey burst out in giggles too.

 

Brendon tries to laugh it off, tries to pretend like it’s no big deal, that he really didn’t just do that in front of Jac and Audrey, but he feels completely degraded by the look in their eyes, Ryan included. Suddenly, Brendon’s skin feels disgusting, like he’s a fucking freak for ever wanting to touch Ryan like that.

 

Audrey must sense his discomfort because she sighing, coming up to Brendon with soft eyes. “It’s okay,” she mutters to him.

 

Brendon pretends that it really is okay, but when Audrey is back on top of him, letting out little noises, Brendon still feels like shit. He realizes that there’s no way his silly little crush, the one he thought he hid so well, would ever really go anywhere. Ryan likes girls. It’s obvious now.

 

When Brendon finally comes, he tries so hard to not think of Ryan doing the same thing on the other bed.

 

***

 

Brendon doesn’t necessarily forget about his crush on Ryan, but he does push it to the back of his mind, where things like forgotten bible verses and embarrassing moments are.

 

He doesn’t have time to daydream about Ryan anymore. They get a record deal, and spend time at Pete Wentz’s house, and then they even go on tour with them, and even with Ryan so close to him all the time, Brendon’s not even allowed to think about his crush.

 

They start to get bigger, though, even manage to loose Brent and pick up Jon. Brendon finds out that there are literal groupies hanging around the venues practically begging for a chance to suck Brendon’s dick, and it’s not like he’s going to turn them down. He counts his crush on Ryan just some fumble on his mind’s part, like it was just confused. Brendon likes girl. And, God, Brendon should be relieved that Ryan put a stop to it before anything actually happened. Well, apart from the hand jobs.

 

Ryan doesn’t even talk to Brendon anymore, anyways. Brendon probably wouldn’t have even know why it was if it wasn’t for Spencer. Ryan didn’t like that Brendon was always getting drunk. He couldn’t help it, though, it was free alcohol and he was technically still underage, so he wasn’t just going to throw his the opportunity away.

 

Brendon knows about Ryan’s father. He’s had conversations with Ryan at two in the morning about each other’s parents, and Ryan always managed to tell a sob story. Now that he’s dead, Brendon figured that Ryan would finally stop feeling so haunted by the man.

 

The thing was, Brendon wanted to distance himself from Ryan. Maybe he wanted Ryan to be angry at him. Maybe he wanted to make Ryan never want to look at him again. Then maybe Brendon could just put to rest the way he knows he still feels for Ryan.

 

It works for the most part. Ryan and Brendon don’t share hotel rooms and they don’t have long conversations before they go to bed and they don’t bump each other’s shoulders instead of saying hello. Brendon just gets drunk and sleeps with groupies. He doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong.

 

When they start to have big shows, though, with audiences that _they_ bring in, and not Fall Out Boy, Ryan starts to get nervous. He was always anxious before, on the other shows, but now he’s shaking, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans, and, more recently, throwing up.

 

He’ll end up disappearing thirty minutes before they’re due on stage, hiding in the bathroom until he does throw up. Usually someone goes to check up on him, and it’s usually Zack or Spencer, but today, everyone else is watching the opener from the side of the stage. Brendon realizes that he has to be the one to follow Ryan into the bathroom and sit next to him in a dirty stall.

 

When he walks in, fixing the collar of his stage shirt, his eyes instantly closes in on Ryan’s form sitting against the wall, legs drawn up to his chest and his head leaning against them.

 

“Ryan,” Brendon says cautiously, the boy’s name sounding sour on his tongue. Brendon remembers when it only used to taste sweet and full of blissful hope for the future. Now it’s just betrayal. And Brendon feels goddamn dirty.

 

Ryan’s head picks up, confused to find Brendon sitting down next to Ryan, heaving out a sigh. “Here to give me a pep talk?” Ryan ask, giving Brendon a small smile. Brendon doesn’t miss the tears, though, the way that Ryan’s hands are curled into fists.

 

“Is that what they usually do?” Brendon says slowly, smiling back to Ryan. “I always thought they gave you like pre-show blowjobs or something.”

 

Ryan doesn’t snicker like Brendon prayed he would. He just purses his lips and looks down to his knees. Ryan sniffles right before saying, “You can leave. I’ll be fine.”

 

Brendon stays put, but shuts his mouth. He should know by now not to joke around with Ryan, or even open his mouth. He always says the wrong things. Ryan lies his head back down on his knees and lets out a choked noise that makes something sting in Brendon’s chest.

 

Brendon really shouldn’t feel guilty, definitely doesn’t want to, but he does. He completely ignored Ryan when his father died. Brendon didn’t know what else to do. He figured Spencer could solve everything. Brendon should have known that Ryan has certain things he just can’t say to Spencer, the things he always told Brendon because Brendon _understands_.

 

And now he’s on the floor next to someone who used to be his best friend, who everyone but the crew of this tour probably still thinks is his best friend, and it makes _Brendon_ want to throw up.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan blurts out, abruptly wrapping his arms around Brendon and getting closer so he can rest his head atop Brendon’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Brendon.”

 

Brendon doesn’t even know what to do. He should be the one apologizing, not Ryan.

 

Before Brendon can even get a chance to think about what it is Ryan’s done wrong, Ryan slowly whispers, “I’m sorry I used you.”

Everything freezes for Brendon. He’s been used? By Ryan? “Ryan…It’s okay,” Brendon says awkwardly. All he can think about is how he should be apologizing.

 

“No, Brendon. I know, okay?” Ryan says. “I was really confused and I just kind of pulled you into the mess, and I’m really sorry for confusing you too.”

 

Brendon figures it makes sense, but then he gets this budding hope, one that he doesn’t even want to acknowledge, that maybe Ryan wants to start over, that Brendon won’t feel ashamed about his naïve crush on Ryan anymore because Ryan has one on him too.

 

“I just want you to know that we’re just friends, okay?” Brendon can’t breathe. “I just needed to know if I was really gay or not, and I got the answer with you, and I know it was really shitty to do that to you, and I’m really sorry.”

 

Brendon really hopes that Ryan can’t feel his heart thumping against his rib cage.

 

“I just want to go back to how things were.”

 

Brendon spends too much time mourning that he barely even realizes that Ryan is now looking up at him with a baited breath. “Yeah,” Brendon finally mutters. “Yeah, we can go back to that, yeah, okay.”

 

Brendon thinks that this must be what heartbreak feels like. Nothings ever hurt this bad before in his entire life, though. He really thought he had some chance with Ryan. Brendon just feels disgusting again. He shouldn’t want things like that from his best friend. Fuck, he’s just a creep.

 

Brendon wants to fucking die, but he settles for just throwing up in the toilet across from him while Ryan watches.

 

***

 

Brendon knocks on the door another time. He tells himself that if no one comes to the door in a minute then he’s going home and hiding there until he dies. Or something like that.

 

Brendon met Brent in guitar class. He’s got messy brown hair that is usually greasy and paired with a Gun’s & Roses t-shirt, which he appears to wear religiously. He’s the only one who talks to Brendon while they play guitars; he even compliments him frequently and asks for help.

 

He likes to talk about the band he’s in, sounding smug as he talks about the genius lyricist. “He’s so good, I don’t even understand half of,” he had told me one day. He also mentioned they were short a guitar player, and even though Brendon didn’t say anything about his availability even if he wanted to, Brent had offered for him to come audition.

 

Here he is now, standing outside what should be someone’s grandma’s house in Vegas. He checks the crumpled paper in his palm again. 314 Johnson Drive, check. Brown house, check. He must be at the right place. Brendon does wonder, though, if maybe Brent was only joking with him, that he wouldn’t actually want Brendon to be in his oh-so _exclusive_ band.

 

Suddenly, somebody comes to the door. His hair is nearly black, awkwardly pushed behind his ears and curling slightly at the tips. His blue eyes stare at Brendon for a few moments. He abruptly turns around, and then yells, “Brent, is this yours?” before walking away, leaving the door and Brendon’s mouth hanging open.

 

Brent finally walks over and then starts to frown. “You didn’t bring your guitar?” he hisses quietly.

 

“You didn’t tell me to,” Brendon whispers. Oh God, he’s already managed to mess this up. “Do you want—I can go back home. I can grab it.”

 

Brendon starts to turn around, to leave and just give up on the whole idea, but then Brent shakes his head, motions for Brendon to just come in, and goes, “You can just use Ryan’s.”

 

Brent made sure to give Brendon a primer before he came over, telling Brendon about Ryan and Spencer, but mostly about Ryan. He talked a lot about Ryan’s image of the band, how he wants to be different, and that he just needs a while to get everything right. Brendon definitely didn’t miss the part about how the last guitarist had voluntarily left after not liking how he was treated by Ryan.

 

Brendon wasn’t exactly excited to use Ryan’s guitar.

 

Brent led Brendon through the large home and downstairs. The room was filled with different animals, all stuffed and put on the walls. Brendon inwardly scoffs because he’s a vegetarian, and how cruel could a person be? He gets distracted, though, when he realizes that two boys are looking at him curiously now, one with a guitar around his neck, Ryan obviously, and the other, Spencer, behind a drum kit.

 

“You guys,” Brent starts, pushing Brendon forward awkwardly. Brendon hadn’t realized he was cowering behind Brent. “This is Brendon. He’s in my guitar class. Really good, trust me. Just let him try it today.”

 

Ryan’s staring intently at Brendon now, eyes moving over Brendon’s hair and onto his clothes. Brendon feels like he’s back to being twelve and asking people if he can sit with them at lunch. Ryan looks like one of those cool kids, too. One of the kids who would definitely say no. Brendon always manages to get fidgety if he knows people are looking at him, and he tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie uncomfortably.

 

“Do you not have a guitar?” Ryan finally asks.

 

Brendon opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

 

“You could always just air guitar it, Brendon,” Spencer laughs, twirling a drum stick in his hand. “You know, sing the guitar riffs and everything.”

 

Even with everyone giving Brendon critical looks, he starts to laugh, looking down to the ground and mumbling, “I have a guitar. At home. It’s just an acoustic, though. Brent didn’t tell me I would need it, and I guess I should have known to bring my guitar to a band audition, but I was just nervous and I wasn’t thinking and—“

 

“Just use mine,” Ryan thankfully interrupts, cutting Brendon off from his pointless tangent.

 

Instead of giving Brendon the guitar around his neck, Ryan walks across the room to fetch an acoustic guitar. Brendon instantly realizes that it’s a classical guitar, and he briefly wonders why Ryan would want a classical and not just a regular acoustic.

 

The way the nylon strings feel on Brendon’s callouses only make him more nervous, his fingers slipping from the sweat on his hands. He looks up to Ryan and Spencer with an inquiring look. He’s never auditioned for a band before so he doesn’t know what usually happens.

 

They seem just as lost, and Ryan ends up muttering, “Just play something.”

 

I find myself looking at Spencer for confirmation. “As long as it’s not Wonderwall,” he laughs, smiling in Ryan’s direction.

 

It’s the first time I’ve seen Ryan smile.

 

No one has even specified if it’s rhythm guitar or lead guitar, so Brendon plays a few chords, trying to show off by how fluently his hands can now move across the fret board after years of practice. Next, Brendon starts to play ‘Blackbird’ and Ryan seems to perk up at this, his eyes moving from Brendon’s fingers to his face.

 

He messes around for a little while longer until Ryan says, “That’s good,” and “How long have you been playing?”

 

Brendon pauses. He’s not sure. No one’s ever asked him before. “Since I was a little kid,” he ends up saying quietly.

 

After that, Brendon watches as Brent, Spencer, and Ryan all leave the room to “talk.” Brendon thinks that he shouldn’t, but he ends up crouched up against the corner, trying to hear bits of what they’re saying.

 

“Ryan, he’s way better than Trevor, what are you saying?” he hears Brent say. There’s a hum of approval, and Brendon can only assume it’s Spencer.

 

Brendon starts to smile as he listens further.

 

“He’s just…” Ryan says hesitantly. “He’s, like, better than me.”

 

And maybe this is when Brendon starts to fall in love with Ryan.

 

***

 

“That was nice,” Brendon admits to Shane once they’re in the car, away from everyone else for just a minute.

 

“You okay to drive?” Shane asks offhandedly, giving him a serious look.

 

Brendon nods, sticking the keys into the ignition to prove he really is. He didn’t even finish his beer, paralyzed by the fear that Ryan would somehow catch onto the fact that Brendon’s turned into an alcoholic of sorts since Ryan and Jon’s departure. Brendon doesn’t want that image; he wants Ryan to be jealous of everything he is now.

 

“You were okay with it then? Seeing him?” Shane asks then, as they’re driving away from the bar, giving him a hopeful look.

 

“Yeah,” Brendon says casually, the smile on his face faltering only a little. “It feels like I haven’t seen him in forever. It went well, though.”

 

Brendon catches the way that Shane looks proud, turning to look out the window and sing along to the song that’s playing quietly on the radio.

 

Shane and he decided last minute to go to a bar, spend some time together before Brendon needed to go back on tour for the new album. Of course, out of all the bars in LA, Ryan happened to be there, all by himself. Shane had flagged him over, excitedly telling Ryan about _Vices &Virtues_ and the tour and how fucking successful I was since Ryan left me.

 

Ryan didn’t seem high or drunk, and spent most of the time listening and congratulating me with his monotone voice rising in that way it does when he’s being sincere. Brendon would have rather had him drunk so that he might’ve said something out of line, so that Brendon would have had a reason to lash out at him. He desperately wanted a reason to not stop resenting Ryan.

 

Ryan only acted like an old friend who has finally realized what it was he did wrong.

 

Brendon’s grip on the steering wheel noticeably tightens as he thinks about the night. It was fine. Nothing happened. Brendon spent the entire time feeling sick and sloshing around the beer in his hand, praying to a god that he didn’t believe in since he was twelve that Ryan couldn’t hear the way his voice shook when he talked directly to him.

 

“Brendon?”

 

Shane was giving him a long look. Brendon licks his lips and thinks that he needs to just breathe and he definitely needs to not cry in front of Shane _again_.

 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, switching on the turn signal and not thinking about Ryan.

 

He can’t help it. Brendon also can’t but think that Ryan was looking good again, wearing another one of his countless suits, hair growing out, but not too long. Brendon only hates himself a little for not wearing something more sophisticated and intimidating.

 

Brendon just want to show Ryan that he’s grown up, that he’s independent and he doesn’t need anyone to direct him everywhere anymore, and he probably didn’t even do that and—

 

He embarrassingly wipes at tears that managed to escape his eyes. He’s not doing this again, always fucking crying about Ryan, fuck, he just wants to stop.

 

“Look, Bren,” Shane starts again.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Brendon repeats, voice cracking, giving him away, but he’s obviously not fine.

 

Brendon could tell, when he was about to leave, that Ryan was waiting for something, that he was too proud to just ask Brendon for his new number or ask him to hang out again soon. Brendon held his breath the entire time Shane hugged Ryan and told him to call Shane sometime, but Ryan wouldn’t say anything to Brendon.

 

All Brendon wanted was to crumple against Ryan and beg him to try it again, that it will be better this time, that things have obviously gotten better, but Brendon just shakes his hand awkwardly and gives him a last smile before leaving.

 

Ryan was almost his. Brendon realizes that it’s always been _almost_ , nothing more than that.

 

Brendon lets out a choked noise, his whole chest suddenly contracting and the pointless tears falling from his eyes again.

 

“Goddamit, Brendon, pull over,” Shane yells.

 

He finally does, putting the car into park on the side of the road. He lies his head down on the steering wheel and starts to sob, his whole body racked with shakes. Shane puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and whispers something about how it was okay for Brendon to be acting like this, like crying after seeing Ryan is just the casual aftermath.

 

“I want to hate him so much,” Brendon finally says when his throat feels like it can finally process words again. “I can’t…I just fucking. He still. I—“

 

Brendon had him. He had him for only a little while, but, fuck, he wishes it would have never ended.

 

***

 

Yet another show. Toronto. Big stage, small crowds, bright lights, and even less hope for their future. Ryan’s to Brendon’s right, like usual, and he’s stiff, also like usual.  He keeps making off-handed comments, voice raw and deep like it always is during shows. It’s probably to keep himself from looking weak at a time like this. It’s always about his goddamn reputation.

 

It’s not like Keltie breaking up with him was a surprise, or even should be. Sure, Brendon didn’t find out for almost five months, but Keltie should have found out the first night Ryan cheated.

 

Ryan’s good at keeping secrets, always has been. It’s not that he even lies, he just knows how to get out of telling people what he’s up to and how he feels. He’s not even sure how to tell people these things. Since he’s never learned, not when he was younger and his mother sat him down in the living room and demanded to know what was wrong, or when his father pushed him aside while they were at a family reunion and asked Ryan to tell him why he’s acting like this, he just doesn’t know how to.

 

When the set finishes, all Brendon wants to do is talk to Ryan, figure out what’s going on between them. Ryan must be on the same page because he grabs Brendon towards the shower, completely ignoring everyone backstage.

 

Ryan told Brendon that he loved him. Fucking _loved_ him.

 

Brendon watches with wide eyes as Ryan closes the door and starts to take off his stage clothes in front of Brendon. He remembers when Ryan would’ve been too embarrassed for this, when he cover his bony torso with his equally bony arms. Now, though, he just shrugs off his shirt and gives Brendon a dark look before walking over to him.

 

“God, I’m so horny,” Ryan says breathily, pushing his body up to Brendon’s.

 

He pulls Brendon in for a kiss, letting out a low moan as he sucks on Brendon’s bottom lip. Brendon should be pushing him off, declaring that he doesn’t want to be some rebound, no matter how much he wants Ryan, but he can’t do it. Brendon’s waited forever for this.

 

Brendon lets Ryan take his clothes off, starting with his shirt and ending with his boxers. Brendon’s not embarrassed anymore, either. He once was, just like Ryan, but they’re older now. They don’t need to be embarrassed.

 

Ryan leads them to the shower, already turned on, the spray too hot against Brendon’s skin. It’s really the least of his worries, though, because Ryan has pushed up against the cold tiling, hand on his dick, moving up and down teasingly slow.

 

“You look so good, Brendon.”

 

Ryan loves dirty talk.

 

“If we had the time, I’d fuck you here, Brendon.”

 

Brendon freezes just a little, just enough for Ryan to notice. Ryan and Brendon don’t fuck. They’ve only once. Now, after Keltie is finally out of the picture, Ryan wants to fuck him. Of course.

 

“I love you, Brendon.”

 

Brendon doesn’t know what to do, so he moans out, “I’m close.”

 

And Ryan, the suave motherfucker he is, goes, “I know.”

 

***

 

Brendon can’t breathe.

 

His manager, Bill, is staring at him suspiciously, even if he’s seen Brendon like this already. Too many times now. If he would just shut the fuck up for two seconds, then maybe Brendon wouldn’t need to grip the side of his chair and consciously remember how to breathe.

 

“I think you’re being impulsive, Brendon,” Bill says sagely, now looking down to the agenda on his desk, flicking the pages nonchalantly.

 

Brendon’s not being impulsive, though. Being impulsive would require never thinking about what it is he’s doing. Brendon wishes that was the truth, but he’s thought about this. He can’t just keep going, writing his own music and pretending that everything didn’t fall to pieces.

 

Ryan and Jon used to joke about Brendon’s music and point out the especially bad lyrics. Brendon doesn’t know how to write full songs, he’s never needed to. He’s always had Ryan to finish them and to write the words he was going to sing.

 

And, fuck, what Brendon would do to have them back, for things to be normal again.

 

Bill goes, “The producer will help you. Why do you think we pay him so much? Plus, you have as long as you need to write your songs. As long as you plan on releasing them. You know how Crush is.” 

Brendon looks down to his hands. Oh God, they’re going to start hounding Brendon soon. All the big officials of the record company will start sending him cheery emails inquiring about the next big album. Pete will get on his case soon, too. He’d hate to see another band go.

 

“I can’t do it,” Brendon finally says, still staring down to his hands that seem so fucking useless right now.

 

Spencer barges into the room before Bill can even say anything else. He’s late. Nothing new there. Brendon watches as Spencer scans the room, starting at Bill and ending on Brendon. He sighs and rolls his eyes, sitting down next to Brendon on the sofa.

 

“I’m trying, Spencer,” Bill says. “He’s not listening. I’m trying to explain that it will get better and he has as long as he needs and—“

 

Brendon’s used to this. Used to when people just talk about him like he isn’t there. Like they think they know about Brendon than Brendon does. He’s listening, though. He’s heard the whole fucking pitch already.

 

“Brendon,” Spencer says firmly, forcing eye contact as he places a gentle hand on Brendon’s thigh. “It’s okay, man.”

 

Brendon doesn’t mean to look over at Bill, but he does. Bill has seen him worse than this, has seen him angry and kicking walls, and sad and crying, and this really shouldn’t be a problem, but Brendon doesn’t know how to trust people anymore.

 

Bill leaves after Spencer does that demanding thing with his eyes, and suddenly it’s just Spencer and Brendon, which isn’t really as surprising as it was before.

 

“I know you’re scared,” Spencer tells Brendon.

 

Brendon doesn’t want people to know he’s scared. Spencer does, though, and there’s no way to convince him otherwise.

 

“You don’t need Jon,” he pauses cautiously. “And Ryan. You don’t need either of them. You don’t even need me, Bren. You know how to write music, okay? You’ve been doing it your whole life.”

 

Sure, Brendon has always been writing music, but he’s never done it alone. When he was younger, and all he knew how to play was the piano, he always had his parents to help him, guide his fingers on the keys. Then he got a little older, had an acoustic guitar, and asked his siblings for help, asked them to give him ideas. Then he had Ryan, and he did everything for Brendon. The only thing Brendon had to do was sing, and Brendon knows how to sing. Always has. Brendon doesn’t know how to write music all by himself.

 

“It won’t be the same,” Brendon insists weakly. “Just think of all the shit reviews we’re going to get. They’re going to kill us. Worse than before.”

 

Brendon’s still recovering from some of the particularly hurtful remarks they got on Pretty Odd.

 

Spencer sighs once more. Brendon makes him sigh a lot. He watches with sad eyes as Spencer gets up, retrieves one of Brendon’s acoustic guitars that’s been hanging around, and hands it to him. He fetches one of the yellow notebooks off Bill’s desk and fishes a pen out from one of the drawers, and also hands that to Brendon.

 

“You’re not realizing how much better writing will be now,” Spencer tells him calmly. “You won’t have to deal with anyone’s opinions anymore. Just write for yourself, Brendon. Get it all out of your system, okay?”

 

It’s only then that Brendon realizes that he’s not on a chain anymore.

 

Spencer leaves the room. Brendon listens to the silence for a few moments and then puts his fingers onto the fret board of the guitar.

 

He can do this. He can be completely honest, let everything out, really fucking kill it and prove Ryan and Jon that he doesn’t need them. Or anyone. He can write his own music. He doesn’t need anyone.

 

***

 

When Brendon sits down to write his fourth album, he’s alone. Technically, he has Dallon and Spencer to help him, but Brendon mostly feels alone. Brendon doesn’t really like to write songs with other people, or at least the skeletons of the songs. He can ask for help when he’s finished, when the lyrics are mostly done and he’s got a rough demo recorded on his laptop, then he can ask for help. While he’s writing, though, he’s the only person he has to deal with.

 

He’s okay with writing by himself now. He’d _rather_ write all by himself. He remembers writing the third album and having issues even writing one song because he’d spend too much time critiquing it, Ryan’s voice always pointing his flaws out.

 

Brendon’s confident now. He’s not bruised like he was. He knows he can write, that people will like his stuff even if he doesn’t have Ryan’s lyrics or Jon’s help. He decides that he doesn’t really need to use Ryan’s technique of hiding everything he wants to say with poetic masks, and Brendon just says what he wants to say. He can be honest now.

 

Before the album comes out, Brendon gets married and he doesn’t even have time to think about Ryan  Ross or his past because he doesn’t really need to. This only boosts up his confident even more when they’re finishing up the recording process. One night, when Brendon’s coming home from the studio with dinner, he sits across from Sarah and tells her about the album.

 

“I just wanna be honest, you know,” he mumbles, poking the noodles with his chopsticks. “I’m not really scared anymore.”

 

Sarah hums in what must be agreement. “You should then.”

 

“I just think it’s time I…” he pauses, looking up at Sarah. “I finally came out. Well, not, like, all the way. Just kind of talked about it. I have an idea for a song.”

 

Sarah nods, understands better than any person Brendon’s ever talked to.

 

For a while after Ryan, Brendon was scared that he would never find anyone who would understand, that he would be eternally alone because of how he once felt for his own best friend, that people wouldn’t understand that Brendon wasn’t sure what he wanted sometimes.

 

Now, though, Brendon figures it’s time to be honest with everyone, and not just Sarah.

 

 

 


	2. IN ORDER VERSION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same fic, but just in actual order. After re-reading this, I decided that the way I put all the scenes out of order was really confusing, so I put them in order if anyone wanted to read it like this.

In seventh grade, Brendon was desperate for friends. He’d manage to ruin all the existing friendships he made in the previous school year. Brendon just wanted to sit next to someone at lunch again, to have someone to laugh with and cheat off of. 

 

Brendon doesn’t manage finding any friends. He sits alone in all of his classes, which isn’t too awful, but in math, when the teacher finishes the lesson, everyone always gets in groups and works together and it kills Brendon to not have anyone to work with.

 

He’s good at math, too. Great, actually, especially since he has no to talk to or distract him during the lessons. So, when one of the boys in his class asks him if he knows the answer to question seventeen, Brendon’s confident as he says what he has and then goes on to explain how he got it when everyone looks at him with blank faces.

 

All of kids in the group start to ask him if he wants to join them. This overwhelms Brendon, gives him an ounce of hope that he’s finally going to make friends. He helps everyone with the homework, shows them the proper way to do everything, and the guys seem overjoyed with Brendon.

 

Brendon’s too caught up with the prospect of making friends that he doesn’t notice the way they get Brendon to just let them copy. He doesn’t notice the way they don’t include him in the conversations, and when Brendon tries to join they just shoot him down. He doesn’t notice the very blatant way they just use him for a good grade in math class.

 

One day, when Brendon is looking around the lunch room for a familiar face so he doesn’t end up eating in the library _again_ , he spots the kids from math class all huddled around a table. He tries to be cool about the way he asks them to sit down, to just eat lunch with them, but when they all shoot him down with menacing grins, Brendon definitely doesn’t feel cool.

 

This is when he realizes he’s messed up. These people we’re just using him. He was convenient. He could do something that they couldn’t, and he could do it well. They were never interested in him, only what he could do.

 

As Brendon leaves the cafeteria, hands curled up into fists, he tells himself he’s never going to be used again.

 

***

 

Brendon knocks on the door another time. He tells himself that if no one comes to the door in a minute then he’s going home and hiding there until he dies. Or something like that.

 

Brendon met Brent in guitar class. He’s got messy brown hair that is usually greasy and paired with a Gun’s & Roses t-shirt, which he appears to wear religiously. He’s the only one who talks to Brendon while they play guitars; he even compliments him frequently and asks for help.

 

He likes to talk about the band he’s in, sounding smug as he talks about the genius lyricist. “He’s so good, I don’t even understand half of,” he had told me one day. He also mentioned they were short a guitar player, and even though Brendon didn’t say anything about his availability even if he wanted to, Brent had offered for him to come audition.

 

Here he is now, standing outside what should be someone’s grandma’s house in Vegas. He checks the crumpled paper in his palm again. 314 Johnson Drive, check. Brown house, check. He must be at the right place. Brendon does wonder, though, if maybe Brent was only joking with him, that he wouldn’t actually want Brendon to be in his oh-so _exclusive_ band.

 

Suddenly, somebody comes to the door. His hair is nearly black, awkwardly pushed behind his ears and curling slightly at the tips. His blue eyes stare at Brendon for a few moments. He abruptly turns around, and then yells, “Brent, is this yours?” before walking away, leaving the door and Brendon’s mouth hanging open.

 

Brent finally walks over and then starts to frown. “You didn’t bring your guitar?” he hisses quietly.

 

“You didn’t tell me to,” Brendon whispers. Oh God, he’s already managed to mess this up. “Do you want—I can go back home. I can grab it.”

 

Brendon starts to turn around, to leave and just give up on the whole idea, but then Brent shakes his head, motions for Brendon to just come in, and goes, “You can just use Ryan’s.”

 

Brent made sure to give Brendon a primer before he came over, telling Brendon about Ryan and Spencer, but mostly about Ryan. He talked a lot about Ryan’s image of the band, how he wants to be different, and that he just needs a while to get everything right. Brendon definitely didn’t miss the part about how the last guitarist had voluntarily left after not liking how he was treated by Ryan.

 

Brendon wasn’t exactly excited to use Ryan’s guitar.

 

Brent led Brendon through the large home and downstairs. The room was filled with different animals, all stuffed and put on the walls. Brendon inwardly scoffs because he’s a vegetarian, and how cruel could a person be? He gets distracted, though, when he realizes that two boys are looking at him curiously now, one with a guitar around his neck, Ryan obviously, and the other, Spencer, behind a drum kit.

 

“You guys,” Brent starts, pushing Brendon forward awkwardly. Brendon hadn’t realized he was cowering behind Brent. “This is Brendon. He’s in my guitar class. Really good, trust me. Just let him try it today.”

 

Ryan’s staring intently at Brendon now, eyes moving over Brendon’s hair and onto his clothes. Brendon feels like he’s back to being twelve and asking people if he can sit with them at lunch. Ryan looks like one of those cool kids, too. One of the kids who would definitely say no. Brendon always manages to get fidgety if he knows people are looking at him, and he tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie uncomfortably.

 

“Do you not have a guitar?” Ryan finally asks.

 

Brendon opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

 

“You could always just air guitar it, Brendon,” Spencer laughs, twirling a drum stick in his hand. “You know, sing the guitar riffs and everything.”

 

Even with everyone giving Brendon critical looks, he starts to laugh, looking down to the ground and mumbling, “I have a guitar. At home. It’s just an acoustic, though. Brent didn’t tell me I would need it, and I guess I should have known to bring my guitar to a band audition, but I was just nervous and I wasn’t thinking and—“

 

“Just use mine,” Ryan thankfully interrupts, cutting Brendon off from his pointless tangent.

 

Instead of giving Brendon the guitar around his neck, Ryan walks across the room to fetch an acoustic guitar. Brendon instantly realizes that it’s a classical guitar, and he briefly wonders why Ryan would want a classical and not just a regular acoustic.

 

The way the nylon strings feel on Brendon’s callouses only make him more nervous, his fingers slipping from the sweat on his hands. He looks up to Ryan and Spencer with an inquiring look. He’s never auditioned for a band before so he doesn’t know what usually happens.

 

They seem just as lost, and Ryan ends up muttering, “Just play something.”

 

I find myself looking at Spencer for confirmation. “As long as it’s not Wonderwall,” he laughs, smiling in Ryan’s direction.

 

It’s the first time I’ve seen Ryan smile.

 

No one has even specified if it’s rhythm guitar or lead guitar, so Brendon plays a few chords, trying to show off by how fluently his hands can now move across the fret board after years of practice. Next, Brendon starts to play ‘Blackbird’ and Ryan seems to perk up at this, his eyes moving from Brendon’s fingers to his face.

 

He messes around for a little while longer until Ryan says, “That’s good,” and “How long have you been playing?”

 

Brendon pauses. He’s not sure. No one’s ever asked him before. “Since I was a little kid,” he ends up saying quietly.

 

After that, Brendon watches as Brent, Spencer, and Ryan all leave the room to “talk.” Brendon thinks that he shouldn’t, but he ends up crouched up against the corner, trying to hear bits of what they’re saying.

 

“Ryan, he’s way better than Trevor, what are you saying?” he hears Brent say. There’s a hum of approval, and Brendon can only assume it’s Spencer.

 

Brendon starts to smile as he listens further.

 

“He’s just…” Ryan says hesitantly. “He’s, like, better than me.”

 

And maybe this is when Brendon starts to fall in love with Ryan.

 

***

When Brendon first meets Ryan, he spends most of his time aweing at him. Brendon was sheltered for a better part of his life and Ryan, though he isn’t even eighteen yet, seems much more mature and sophisticated.

 

It intrigues Brendon so much that he ends up feeling nervous and intimidated whenever he’s forced to converse with Ryan. Brendon finds himself critiquing every little thing he does when he’s around Ryan. He wants to seem mature and cool, even if he has to miss rehearsals to go to church picnics.

           

Brendon wouldn’t really consider himself gay, or even questioning, when he first meets Ryan. He likes girls and he likes watching their cleavage peek out and he likes their legs, and it’s just something Brendon _knows_. Ryan is different and Brendon could never really explain it.

 

One night, after practice at their newly acquired rehearsal space, Brendon embarrassingly hides a blanket in his backpack. He has been spending the past few nights at his friends’ houses, but he doesn’t want to bother them anymore. He is paying for the space, so it’s only fair that he can stay there for the night.

 

Ryan has the same idea.

 

They spend the night on the hardwood floor, their blankets completely unnecessary in the hot room, and their backs sore.

           

Ryan seems antsy, and Brendon notices it right away because Ryan always seems to have a tight grip on his composure. One second, Brendon and Ryan are talking about Spencer’s girlfriend, and then Ryan just starts spewing out words.

           

“I think I’m gay,” he tells Brendon in a hushed voice. “I haven’t really told anyone…I’m just not sure about everything right now.”

           

Brendon’s not so tight on keeping his composure perfect. He’s taken aback by this comment; especially one that seems so rushed and obviously held in for so long. Brendon never thought that Ryan would be gay, and he really didn’t think that Brendon would be the first to be told about it.

 

Brendon thinks _, it is three-fifteen in the morning and Ryan just told me he’s gay_. And then he goes on to only thinking about Brokeback Mountain because that’s honestly the only thing he’s heard of with gay people.

 

“God, please don’t make this weird,” Ryan sighs, looking away and running a hand through his bed-head. “I’m not gonna, like, rape you in your sleep or something, Bren. I just want someone to know. I mean, I could’ve told Spencer but…he would want to know why he didn’t get told sooner. And maybe it’s because you don’t listen as well as him, and I’m hoping that you forget this by the time we wake up. I just really needed to tell someone. Please don’t tell anyone. Fuck. No one can know.”

           

Brendon stares at a forlorn looking Ryan Ross, his eyes not daring to meet Brendon’s. The look on his face makes Brendon’s throat close up. It’s obvious that Ryan feels trapped, and there’s no way Brendon is missing the opportunity to strengthen his friendship with the older boy.

           

“Hey, Ry, I don’t care. I won’t tell anyone.”

           

This is when things really start.

 

***

Ryan’s ecstatic after Pete leaves. And sure, Ryan was pretty happy while Pete was around, but it was obvious that he was trying to suppress most of it so he didn’t look uncool or whatever.

 

Pete’s gone now, though, so Ryan keeps rushing around Brendon’s room, a giant smile on his face, ranting about the future.

 

“Just think about it, Bren,” he says, hands now on either of Brendon’s shoulders. “He said he might be able to tour with them. Tour with Fall Out Boy!”

 

Brendon smirks nervously, looking at Ryan’s face a few centimeters from his own. Brendon swears he’s never seen Ryan this happy. The look on his face is enough to make Brendon’s stomach fill with cliché butterflies. Fuck, Brendon really thought he was over this feeling.

 

Ryan starts to pace the room and says, “We need to start writing. Now. We need more songs.”

 

Ryan starts over to Brendon’s guitar, but Brendon sighs and goes, “Ryan, we have time. Let’s just watch a movie or something.”

 

After a little more persuasion, Ryan finally picks out a movie and then slips into the bed with Brendon, tugging at the blankets.

 

They’ve done this before. They always watch movies together, even if most of the time it’s with Spencer and Brent, too. Still, Brendon shouldn’t be so nervous next to Ryan, their arms touching as they watch the movie.

 

Brendon’s spent the better half of a year now ignoring how he feels, mainly because he’d rather not sort out his sexuality. It was never a question until Ryan showed up in his life. Now, though, Brendon can’t help but to think too much about Ryan. He knows it isn’t just some infatuation, a magnetic friendship or something. He can only relate his feelings to a crush. A fucking hardcore crush that makes Brendon want to vomit when he thinks too hard about it.

 

Ryan catches Brendon not looking at the TV, but rather Ryan’s face, and Brendon feels his own face grow hot. Ryan laughs a little, but doesn’t say anything about it, just goes, “I can’t wait to prove him wrong.”

 

Brendon knows he’s talking about his dad. It’s usually a sore topic for Ryan, and he’ll do anything to avoid it, but there are rare occasions where Ryan will tell Brendon a little about him.

 

“My parent’s probably won’t even care if we got famous,” Brendon snorts. “Probably just pray for me or something.”

 

Ryan smiles at me. “I’m serious,” he stresses. “I know we’re going to make it. Pete knew it, too. I’m just—Fuck, man.”

 

Ryan hides his face in Brendon’s chest, wrapping his bony arms around Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon can’t even help the way his heart swells. Ryan makes an excited noise, clutching tighter.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna smoke or something to celebrate? It’s not like pot’s gonna kill you,” Brendon mutters. Initially, getting high was definitely his celebration plans, but then Ryan wanted to come over and it’s not like Brendon was going to decline that, but Ryan’s got that whole straightedge thing going on.

 

Ryan pulls back. “There are other ways to celebrate,” he says slowly, giving Brendon a dark look.

 

Brendon freezes up because, fuck, what is that supposed to mean? Suddenly, Ryan looks like he knows all about Brendon’s silly crush. Brendon feels maybe a little pathetic because he and Ryan are _friends_ , nothing more, and for Brendon to want more, well that’s just not right.

 

Ryan just keeps looking at him, mouth parting just slightly, eyes falling to his lips and then back up to his eyes. Brendon’s brain instantly clicks off when he sees that, and he’s not really thinking when he leans in, lips landing awkwardly overtop Ryan’s.

 

Brendon thinks that Ryan’s mouth tastes like the fruit punch he was drinking at Del Taco, and also that he never wants to stop kissing Ryan. Like, ever. One of Ryan’s hands comes up to cup Brendon’s cheek right before he’s crawling on top of Brendon, legs straddling him.

 

Brendon can’t even be bothered to worry about his parents and siblings, all of which are home and can probably hear the low moan that Brendon lets out. They already hate him anyways.

 

“Is this okay?” Ryan asks as he starts to unbutton Brendon’s jeans.

 

And, that’s right, Ryan’s the one who’s partially come out, but Brendon really hasn’t ever indicated that he could possibly be interested in guys too. He figures it’s already pretty obvious now. Brendon ends up nodding his head embarrassingly fast before he starts to kiss Ryan’s neck awkwardly.

 

No matter how much Brendon likes to talk up his sex life, he’s actually painfully inexperienced at this kind of stuff. He’s really only gotten a sloppy hand job from a girl once, and he didn’t even return the favor, which made him so guilty that he completely ignored the girl afterwards.

 

Now, he bucks into Ryan’s hand that has made its way into Brendon’s boxers. Brendon suddenly realizes that this is actually happening. Before now, he figured that nothing would ever go on with Ryan and him, that all of Brendon’s embarrassing late-night fantasies were all folly. He wonders if maybe he should say something about it, how he’s totally jerked off to the thought of this.

 

He decides not to.

 

***

Brendon goes home with Ryan when they fly home from a show in New York, one of their arena shows that somehow got sold out just for a few guys wearing makeup and some dancers. Brendon doesn’t necessarily want to see his parents yet, even if they have managed to partially hash out most of their issues. Brendon just needs a little longer before going back to bible verse and Sunday mass central.

 

When they get to Ryan’s house, they find Ryan’s dad and a man Brendon doesn’t recognize. It’s late, maybe one in the morning, and it’s not like they were expecting anyone to be up, so Ryan still has makeup smudged on his face, and his hair is flat, and when sees the two of them sitting there, Ryan feels like he’s shaking next to Brendon.

 

Brendon notices the bottle of wine sitting between them, two stemmed glasses at either end of the table.

 

“Ryan!” The younger man gets up, going over to give Ryan a quick, one-armed hug. “I wouldn’t usually be here this late, but Dad said you were getting back tonight, and I thought we could catch up.”

 

Ryan’s looking behind this man, looking at his father at the kitchen table, his stern eyes set on the wine bottle in front of him. “Um,” Ryan finally mumbles out.

 

“Sorry,” the man says, looking towards Brendon. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Jordan, Ryan’s half-brother. You’re one of his bandmates, right?”

 

Things finally seem to click together for Brendon as he shakes Jordan’s hand and nods. “Yeah, I’m Brendon,” he answers.

 

“Oh, yeah, Ryan’s told me a lot about you,” Jordan says eagerly.

 

No one misses the way Ryan’s dad scoffs, loud and obnoxious, and it makes the color drain from Brendon and Ryan’s face.

 

Jordan definitely looks awkward, clearing his throat and then going, “So, hey, you guys want to sit down, have a glass of wine, and talk?”

 

Brendon looks to gauge Ryan’s reaction on his answer, but all he gets is Ryan instantly freezing, his face contorting in anger right before he swipes the bottle of wine from the table and running off. Brendon feels like a lost puppy, so he only just follows, like he’s in on all of this too, even when he has no idea what the fuck is going on with Ryan.

 

In the bathroom, Ryan’s pouring out the wine with shaky hands, some of it not even making it into the drain and really onto the counter and on Ryan’s white t-shirt. Brendon doesn’t know what to do, so he just ends up staring until Jordan rushes in and grabs the bottle from Ryan, spilling more onto the ground during the scuffle.

 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Jordan hisses.

 

“Not having a drink with you _or_ him,” Ryan says stubbornly, his little body still trembling.

 

Jordan just sighs. “You know, you could try to be civilized for once. Dad’s never done anything bad to you, yet you always act like a little kid whenever you see him. I just…I don’t understand.”

Brendon blinks and thinks, _does he not know?_

 

Ryan keeps quiet now, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

 

Jordan puts the bottle down next to Ryan. “Keep it, you could probably use it,” he spits, turning to walk away.

 

“I don’t drink,” Ryan says instantly.

 

Jordan pauses, turns halfway around, and says, “Well, then you should start. Maybe you wouldn’t be such a dick all the time.”

 

Once Jordan is gone and Brendon’s head is spinning with questions he probably shouldn’t ask, Ryan picks up the wine bottle with two unsteady hands and brings it to his lips. He ends up choking and making a more mess of his shirt, the front nearly all stained red now.

 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Brendon breathes out, his brain finally working again. He cautiously closes the bathroom door and rushes over to Ryan’s limp body that’s now crumpled on the floor next to the sink, head in his hands, bottle clanging to the ground next to him.

 

“He thinks I’ve lived the perfect life, Brendon. He thinks…“ Ryan gasps out in between the long, drawn out sobs falling from his lips. “Why did it have to be me? I’m never gonna end up like my dad. I swear to God, I’ll never do what he did to me.”

 

Brendon realizes that he’s speaking about his father’s alcoholism. Ryan’s talked briefly about it before, used to come to band practice with black eyes, but never went into detail. Brendon knew that it had to be bad if Ryan would spend nights on the dirty floors of their practice space instead of going home. Now, though, Brendon realizes that Ryan’s half-brother doesn’t even know about it and definitely doesn’t understand why Ryan would freak out about having a glass of wine with his father.

 

“It’s okay now, Ryan,” Brendon soothes, trying to take off Ryan’s sticky shirt without things becoming awkward.

 

Ryan finally looks down to the blood-red stains and whispers, “I’ve been shot.”

 

Brendon smiles crookedly and finally gets his shirt off, Ryan’s bare, pale chest making him look even more vulnerable. Brendon takes off his hoodie and hands it to Ryan. He looks at it for a few moments before finally slipping it on, wrapping his arms around his torso tightly.

 

“It smells like you,” he whispers to Brendon.

 

Brendon tries his best to not make this awkward because, fuck, Brendon’s over his weird crush he has on Ryan. “Yeah,” Brendon mumbles. “I would hope so. I’ve been wearing it all day.”

 

Ryan gives Brendon a small smile, like he understands and even appreciates what Brendon’s trying to do, but then he says, “My dad probably thinks you’re my boyfriend, you know. Probably thinks we’re fucking right now.”

 

“Well, we’re not, so whatever,” Brendon snaps automatically. He instantly regrets it because of how bitter it sounds.

 

Ryan looks over at Brendon unexpectedly, slowly eyeing him, and then says, “Stand up.”

Brendon, being so fucking willing, jumps up. Ryan does the same and then steps so close to Brendon that their chests are touching, and leans his forehead against Brendon’s, and Brendon can smell the wine on Ryan’s breath.

 

“Let’s just get it out of our system, okay?” Ryan whispers hotly. “We’re gonna do this…and then that’s it. We can’t, not anymore, not after today because I’m not gay, and you’re not gay, and we’re just confused.”

 

Brendon wants to tell him so badly that Brendon’s not sure about any of those things expect for being confused—Brendon doesn’t need anyone to tell him he’s confused—but before he can, Ryan leans forward just a little and suddenly they’re kissing, Ryan’s tongue fighting its way into Brendon’s mouth.

 

Ryan abruptly pulls apart and looks down to his hands, which are unbuckling Brendon’s jeans, and then pulling them, and his boxers, down until they’re completely out of the picture. Brendon can’t even breathe as he watches Ryan get back on the floor, on his knees, and then bites his lip slightly before bringing his hand up to Brendon’s half-hard dick.

 

“I’ve never done this before,” Ryan tells him quietly. “So, don’t, you know…”

 

Brendon’s not entirely sure what Ryan meant to say next. To laugh? To come on his face? To not let Ryan choke on Brendon’s dick? Those ideas are enough for Brendon to completely lose it right there, but thankfully he doesn’t. He just nods his head eagerly and decides that he probably shouldn’t do any of those things.

 

Ryan slowly brings his mouth down on Brendon’s cock, and Brendon can’t even help but let his fingers curl into Ryan’s hair gently before he lets out a low moan. He does manage to realize that Ryan’s dad and his fucking half-brother are right in the kitchen, and that Brendon really shouldn’t be making noises.

 

Ryan doesn’t seem to be worried about it, his eyes closed as he brings a careful hand up to Brendon’s hips and puts the other at the base of Brendon’s cock, slowly moving it up and down on the parts where his lips don’t get to.

 

Brendon’s really only gotten blow jobs from a few groupies when he’s been wasted and desperate for anyone, but he’s completely sober now, and Ryan’s mouth is too good. Brendon knows that Ryan just said he’s never given a blow job before, but he must have watched a shit ton of porn and gotten a good idea because he isn’t nearly as sloppy or confused as the girls that usually give Brendon ones.

 

“Ryan, _fuck_ , so good,” Brendon moans before his brain can even tell him it’s a bad idea.

 

Ryan’s eyes snap open, looking up to Brendon with Brendon’s cock still in his mouth, and he can’t even help but to come, his eyes flickering shut as he sags against the sink and Ryan swallows his come. Ryan doesn’t even let him apologize for not warning him because he shoots up and connects his lips to Brendon’s. He can taste his own come in Ryan’s mouth and doesn’t even understand why that turns him on.

 

“Here,” Brendon mumbles once Ryan starts to suck on his neck, most likely leaving behind a bruise. Brendon unzips Ryan’s jeans, moving them down far enough to where he can feel Ryan’s hard on through his tight boxers, and he rubs it making Ryan choke a little and let the hand he has on Brendon’s waist turn into a claw.

 

Brendon remembers this from the first time they did this, which seems like forever ago, when Ryan and Brendon both got off embarrassingly fast. Everything is just a little more familiar and Brendon doesn’t even second guess the way his hand twists and how he kisses Ryan right before he comes.

 

After they’ve cleaned up, and right before they’re about to leave to Ryan’s room, Ryan pushes Brendon into the door and gives him one last long kiss, his fingers gently touching his face.

 

“It’s out of our system now,” Ryan says to Brendon before moving Brendon out of the way and exiting the bathroom.

 

The thing is, Brendon is almost positive it’s not out of his system at all.

 

***

Brendon never really thought it was weird that Ryan and him got matching girlfriends at the same time. Ryan had a relentless crush on the girl, Jac, for what seemed like forever, so them getting together when Ryan had finally “made it” was no surprise.

 

It was just that Jac had a best friend, who was single and definitely wouldn’t mind dating Brendon. Up until that point, it wasn’t like Brendon had a line of girls queuing up to date up, so he jumped at the chance to have what he thought was a proper girlfriend.

 

And maybe, just maybe, Brendon was looking for an excuse to actually get Ryan out of his system.

 

Ryan never mentions those nights, the ones that Brendon spends way too much time thinking about, the ones that Ryan probably can’t even be bothered to remember, so Brendon doesn’t let those two time he gave his best friend hand jobs really stop him from getting a girlfriend.

 

The only time Brendon and Ryan get to see their girlfriends is when they’re in Vegas, which for once in their lives, it’s actually not that often. When they get the chance, when the girls are staying at a hotel in Los Angeles, they take it.

 

Brendon goes back to Ryan’s with him, expecting to go straight to the hotel after Ryan takes a shower. Jac calls though, and Brendon can hear her whiny voice even if Ryan’s phone is pushed into his ear. She wants them to go straight there, for Ryan to just take a shower at the hotel. Ryan hesitates for a moment, explaining that it would be easier to just do it at his house, but then she says something, something that Brendon doesn’t catch, something that makes Ryan still and draw in a choked breath.

 

Ryan quickly clicks off his phone and then they’re driving to Jac and Audrey’s hotel fifteen over the speed limit.

 

Brendon doesn’t actually figure out why Ryan suddenly changed his mind until they get to the hotel, and Jac is pulling Ryan into the bathroom, a devilish grin on her face.

 

And sure, Brendon has had loads of sex with Audrey since they started dating, and he doesn’t mind telling Ryan about it because Ryan certainly has no troubles returning the favor. But none of that means he wants to listen to Jac and Ryan have sex.

 

“So, where are we going?” Brendon asks Audrey nervously.

 

“Why wouldn’t we just stay here?” she giggles, pulling Brendon down on the bed. “It was my idea all along, anyways.”

 

Brendon can’t think straight with her hands now roaming his body freely. “Idea? What idea?” And, fuck, Brendon can hear the running water in the bathroom, and he tries really hard not to think about both of them in the shower together.

 

“Not really an idea, I guess,” Audrey mumbles, sounding much more coherent than Brendon does. Her hands are taking off Brendon’s clothes now, and Brendon can’t even be bothered to stop her. “It’s just, you know, we all have sex in the same room. Thought it would be hot.”

 

Brendon moans, can’t even help it, can’t even think about how Ryan is literally in the bathroom and can probably hear him.

 

“Guess I was right,” Audrey says.

 

Brendon starts to take off her shirt, instantly going to cup at her boobs. Brendon picks up his hips when Audrey is trying to get his pants off, and suddenly Brendon’s completely naked, but it’s not like he really cares.

 

Audrey doesn’t even bother taking off skirt, she just hands Brendon a condom to put on while she pulls up her skirt, sticking fingers into herself.

 

Suddenly, Ryan and Jac emerge from the bathroom, both naked, still wet, their bodies falling on top of the bed next to Brendon and Audrey. Brendon can’t even think. All he does is stare at Ryan, the way his hair is in his face, droplets of water everywhere.

 

“Come on, Brendon,” Audrey whines, motioning to the condom that he hasn’t even put on yet.

 

When Brendon finally gets inside Audrey, she’s on top of him, moving up and down, Brendon’s hands possessively tightening on her hips. Brendon can hear Ryan and Jac, the slick sounds of their bodies moving against each other and their moans, but when Brendon lolls his head back out of ecstasy, he’s suddenly at a perfect angle to watch Ryan.

 

Really, Ryan shouldn’t be the one that Brendon is staring at. It should be Audrey. Brendon can’t even help it, though, because Ryan’s _right_ there, pushing into Jac with those dark eyes that Brendon will never forget.

 

Audrey abruptly stops, pulling off Brendon and moving to the back of the bed, slipping off her skirt finally. Brendon thinks that things are going to resume and that Audrey really didn’t notice Brendon staring at Ryan, but it’s obvious she has.

 

“Jac,” Audrey says impatiently. Jac’s eyes flick open and Ryan stops fucking her, looking annoyed. “Jac, remember my plan? It’s definitely a good idea.”

 

Jac pulls away from Ryan excitedly, sitting up on the bed. She gives Brendon and Ryan a big smile and says, “You guys should make out.”

 

“What?” Brendon instantly vomits out, because, _no way_. Brendon wonders for a few terrifying moments if Ryan actually told Jac about one of _those_ nights.

 

“Come on, Jac. You’re gonna scare him,” Ryan says, letting out a low laugh.

 

“You just spent like ten minutes staring at him, Bren. Just go kiss him,” Audrey insists. Brendon goes deep red as Ryan gives him a smirk, like he’s known this already. “It’s okay. We’re not going to call you gay. We just think it’s hot.”

 

This is apparently all Ryan needs to come over to Brendon, put one firm hand on his shoulder and then kiss him. Brendon, being stupid like he is, melts into it, hands instantly reaching out to touch Ryan because it feels like it’s been forever since he’s been allowed to.

 

Ryan has no issues getting his tongue into Brendon’s mouth, and Brendon tries really hard to hold in his moan, but it still comes out, making the girls whisper excitedly to each other. Brendon can’t be bothered to care about what they think of him because he finally has Ryan to touch again.

 

Ryan’s hair is still damp, presumably from the shower, but probably from sweat too. Brendon’s hands fumble around until they’re on Ryan’s hips, moving lower, hand on his dick, easily moving up and down on his length.

 

Ryan lets out a choked noise, pushing away from Brendon, stumbling into Jac who’s right behind him, a smirk on her face.

 

“Brendon’s enthusiastic about this,” she laughs, making Audrey burst out in giggles too.

 

Brendon tries to laugh it off, tries to pretend like it’s no big deal, that he really didn’t just do that in front of Jac and Audrey, but he feels completely degraded by the look in their eyes, Ryan included. Suddenly, Brendon’s skin feels disgusting, like he’s a fucking freak for ever wanting to touch Ryan like that.

 

Audrey must sense his discomfort because she sighing, coming up to Brendon with soft eyes. “It’s okay,” she mutters to him.

 

Brendon pretends that it really is okay, but when Audrey is back on top of him, letting out little noises, Brendon still feels like shit. He realizes that there’s no way his silly little crush, the one he thought he hid so well, would ever really go anywhere. Ryan likes girls. It’s obvious now.

 

When Brendon finally comes, he tries so hard to not think of Ryan doing the same thing on the other bed.

 

***

Brendon doesn’t necessarily forget about his crush on Ryan, but he does push it to the back of his mind, where things like forgotten bible verses and embarrassing moments are.

 

He doesn’t have time to daydream about Ryan anymore. They get a record deal, and spend time at Pete Wentz’s house, and then they even go on tour with them, and even with Ryan so close to him all the time, Brendon’s not even allowed to think about his crush.

 

They start to get bigger, though, even manage to loose Brent and pick up Jon. Brendon finds out that there are literal groupies hanging around the venues practically begging for a chance to suck Brendon’s dick, and it’s not like he’s going to turn them down. He counts his crush on Ryan just some fumble on his mind’s part, like it was just confused. Brendon likes girl. And, God, Brendon should be relieved that Ryan put a stop to it before anything actually happened. Well, apart from the hand jobs.

 

Ryan doesn’t even talk to Brendon anymore, anyways. Brendon probably wouldn’t have even know why it was if it wasn’t for Spencer. Ryan didn’t like that Brendon was always getting drunk. He couldn’t help it, though, it was free alcohol and he was technically still underage, so he wasn’t just going to throw his the opportunity away.

 

Brendon knows about Ryan’s father. He’s had conversations with Ryan at two in the morning about each other’s parents, and Ryan always managed to tell a sob story. Now that he’s dead, Brendon figured that Ryan would finally stop feeling so haunted by the man.

 

The thing was, Brendon wanted to distance himself from Ryan. Maybe he wanted Ryan to be angry at him. Maybe he wanted to make Ryan never want to look at him again. Then maybe Brendon could just put to rest the way he knows he still feels for Ryan.

 

It works for the most part. Ryan and Brendon don’t share hotel rooms and they don’t have long conversations before they go to bed and they don’t bump each other’s shoulders instead of saying hello. Brendon just gets drunk and sleeps with groupies. He doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong.

 

When they start to have big shows, though, with audiences that _they_ bring in, and not Fall Out Boy, Ryan starts to get nervous. He was always anxious before, on the other shows, but now he’s shaking, rubbing his sweaty hands on his jeans, and, more recently, throwing up.

 

He’ll end up disappearing thirty minutes before they’re due on stage, hiding in the bathroom until he does throw up. Usually someone goes to check up on him, and it’s usually Zack or Spencer, but today, everyone else is watching the opener from the side of the stage. Brendon realizes that he has to be the one to follow Ryan into the bathroom and sit next to him in a dirty stall.

 

When he walks in, fixing the collar of his stage shirt, his eyes instantly closes in on Ryan’s form sitting against the wall, legs drawn up to his chest and his head leaning against them.

 

“Ryan,” Brendon says cautiously, the boy’s name sounding sour on his tongue. Brendon remembers when it only used to taste sweet and full of blissful hope for the future. Now it’s just betrayal. And Brendon feels goddamn dirty.

 

Ryan’s head picks up, confused to find Brendon sitting down next to Ryan, heaving out a sigh. “Here to give me a pep talk?” Ryan ask, giving Brendon a small smile. Brendon doesn’t miss the tears, though, the way that Ryan’s hands are curled into fists.

 

“Is that what they usually do?” Brendon says slowly, smiling back to Ryan. “I always thought they gave you like pre-show blowjobs or something.”

 

Ryan doesn’t snicker like Brendon prayed he would. He just purses his lips and looks down to his knees. Ryan sniffles right before saying, “You can leave. I’ll be fine.”

 

Brendon stays put, but shuts his mouth. He should know by now not to joke around with Ryan, or even open his mouth. He always says the wrong things. Ryan lies his head back down on his knees and lets out a choked noise that makes something sting in Brendon’s chest.

 

Brendon really shouldn’t feel guilty, definitely doesn’t want to, but he does. He completely ignored Ryan when his father died. Brendon didn’t know what else to do. He figured Spencer could solve everything. Brendon should have known that Ryan has certain things he just can’t say to Spencer, the things he always told Brendon because Brendon _understands_.

 

And now he’s on the floor next to someone who used to be his best friend, who everyone but the crew of this tour probably still thinks is his best friend, and it makes _Brendon_ want to throw up.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan blurts out, abruptly wrapping his arms around Brendon and getting closer so he can rest his head atop Brendon’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Brendon.”

 

Brendon doesn’t even know what to do. He should be the one apologizing, not Ryan.

 

Before Brendon can even get a chance to think about what it is Ryan’s done wrong, Ryan slowly whispers, “I’m sorry I used you.”

Everything freezes for Brendon. He’s been used? By Ryan? “Ryan…It’s okay,” Brendon says awkwardly. All he can think about is how he should be apologizing.

 

“No, Brendon. I know, okay?” Ryan says. “I was really confused and I just kind of pulled you into the mess, and I’m really sorry for confusing you too.”

 

Brendon figures it makes sense, but then he gets this budding hope, one that he doesn’t even want to acknowledge, that maybe Ryan wants to start over, that Brendon won’t feel ashamed about his naïve crush on Ryan anymore because Ryan has one on him too.

 

“I just want you to know that we’re just friends, okay?” Brendon can’t breathe. “I just needed to know if I was really gay or not, and I got the answer with you, and I know it was really shitty to do that to you, and I’m really sorry.”

 

Brendon really hopes that Ryan can’t feel his heart thumping against his rib cage.

 

“I just want to go back to how things were.”

 

Brendon spends too much time mourning that he barely even realizes that Ryan is now looking up at him with a baited breath. “Yeah,” Brendon finally mutters. “Yeah, we can go back to that, yeah, okay.”

 

Brendon thinks that this must be what heartbreak feels like. Nothings ever hurt this bad before in his entire life, though. He really thought he had some chance with Ryan. Brendon just feels disgusting again. He shouldn’t want things like that from his best friend. Fuck, he’s just a creep.

 

Brendon wants to fucking die, but he settles for just throwing up in the toilet across from him while Ryan watches.

 

***

Brendon stays single during the recording and touring of Pretty Odd. He doesn’t want to think about boyfriends or girlfriends and definitely not Ryan Ross. So, he sticks to random hook-ups that only really happen when he’s on tour.

 

And maybe it hurts just a little to know that Ryan is perfectly fine with Keltie. They’re always talking, whether Keltie’s with them or if Ryan’s insistently texting her. It’s a classic power couple, and it makes Brendon sick. He likes Keltie, too, can’t even help it.

 

Brendon knows what Ryan’s doing her. Hell, the whole crew knows he’s cheating. Ryan gets away with it because he knows how to lie and to feel without guilt and he really learned it from the best.

 

When they get back on tour and when Keltie has to go back to New York to dance, Ryan spends his time writing endless melodramatic songs and hanging out with Alex Greenwald at seedy bars. Brendon sometimes comes along, when there are bigger groups.

 

Keltie does show up this night, though, a big surprise to everyone. Ryan does the good boyfriend part and holds onto her waist firmly and shows her off to everyone who doesn’t already know her name. When they stop to talk to Brendon for a while, he is nothing but a gentlemen, making Keltie laugh and everything. He tries to make Ryan laugh with jokes that only he would understand, to just maybe make Keltie a little jealous that she’ll never be as close to Ryan as he is, but Ryan doesn’t laugh.

 

Brendon looks over to where Ryan is staring very intently. It’s a pretty girl, tiny black dress on, and eyelashes done perfectly, and I don’t have to be told who she is. She’s got on these sad eyes, dangerously thinning when she peaks at Keltie.

 

“Who is she?” Keltie asks, oblivious as to what’s going on, that she’s looking at Ryan’s lover.

 

Ryan looks panicked, opening his mouth, but nothing’s coming out.

 

“She’s with me,” Brendon says. And, God, look at him, the big super hero he is. “I’ll just go now. Have a good night, guys.”

 

He waves goodbye, Keltie and Ryan looking satisfied, and heads towards the girl. Brendon’s never gotten her name, only really seen her around a few times, in the mornings before she leaves or when she stays on the bus for a night, so he doesn’t know what to say when he walks up to her. He extends his arm, for her to link with her own, and they stride outside, the November winds just a little too cold.

 

She sits down on the concrete, pulling off her purse and finding a box of cigarettes inside of it. She looks up to Brendon with a questioning glance, like she wants him to join her, and Brendon doesn’t really have any other plans tonight.

 

“You’re a good friend,” she tells me, voice sour as she lights the cigarette hanging from those pouty lips that Ryan must love.

 

“Not really,” Brendon mutters, because if he really was a good friend, than he shouldn’t have fallen in love with Ryan.

 

She offers him the cigarette, lipstick staining it, and Brendon takes it because he has nothing to lose anymore.

 

“Did you know?” Brendon asks her.

 

“I definitely knew I was a secret…I’ve just never seen her before,” she tells Brendon, laughing bitterly. “I know it’s silly, to let him do that, I just…I can’t quit Ryan.”

 

Brendon definitely thinks he can relate to that. He knows this girl loves Ryan. He saw the way she looked at him, and God, of course Brendon can just tell because it’s the same way he looks at Ryan. They both know that they’re never going to have Ryan. No one gets to have Ryan, not even himself.

 

“Yeah,” he Brendon agrees slowly. “He’s got this, like, magnetic personality, I guess.”

 

“He’s like _nicotine_ ,” she muses, taking a long drag.

 

Brendon’s never thought about it like that, but he realizes that it’s really the only way to describe what Ryan does to people.

 

“Everyone always find a way to quit Ryan, though. They always do. You never get to keep him.”

 

The girl smiles cynically at him, stubbing the cigarette on the ground. “Do you wanna go somewhere and fuck?”

 

If Brendon can’t have Ryan, he figures that his lover is as close as he’s going to get.

 

***

Shit hits the fan for Ryan when Keltie finds out.

 

Ryan knew, somewhere in his busy mind, that Keltie eventually _was_ going to find out that he was cheating on her. He just wasn’t sure if it was actually going to be him to tell her. He gets his answer the day after Valentine’s Day.

 

Ryan didn’t mention much about it to Brendon, but Jon said that Keltie went through his phone and found some unsavory things about Ryan’s little double life he’s been leading.

 

Brendon can’t even help but to be excited. He feels like he’s been waiting for years to have a chance to be with Ryan. He knows the odds are so low and pitiful, but the thought of having Ryan to himself is overwhelming and Brendon can only spend his time dreaming up embarrassing domestic scenarios of the two of them.

 

He’s so drunk on hope that he completely misses Ryan’s life falling apart.

 

They’re still on tour, so Ryan doesn’t even know how to deal with all the crumbling pieces. It doesn’t surprise anyone to see him instantly clicking off the second they don’t have to be on stage or around fans or doing interviews. It feels like every night, Brendon watches him leave to go to a bar or party to get drunk and high.

 

Brendon tries to wait patiently. He doesn’t mention the many girls Ryan sleeps with, or that time when Brendon had to listen to Ryan and Alex fuck on the bus when they were headed to Maine. No, Brendon is a good boy, and waits for his turn. Brendon just wants to put him together and be the shining sun that Keltie was to him.

 

It isn’t even Brendon who initiates it, either. Ryan comes into his bunk one night, kissing Brendon abruptly. Brendon knows that the swelling in his chest isn’t just from the way that Ryan’s hands are sliding under his shirt. No, it’s Brendon’s fucking heart knocking into his rib cage because finally, Jesus Christ, _finally_.

 

Once they’re both out of their post-orgasm daze, Brendon can’t even help it but to whisper, “I’m in love you,” into Ryan’s shoulder. He’s never told Ryan, and he always figured it would be after some romantic date or when Ryan shows up with flowers or something, but Brendon scared that he’ll never get the chance to tell Ryan later.

 

Ryan just tightens the grip he has on Brendon and whispers back, “I know.”

 

They stay close to each other, Ryan not leaving like Brendon had expected. Inside his bunk, for one night, Brendon tells Ryan everything that he’s neglected to since Ryan got with Keltie. Brendon whispers all his secrets into Ryan’s chest, and kisses his neck when he’s not sure what else to say, and he realizes that he could die right there in Ryan’s arms and he’d be okay with it.

 

Ryan doesn’t say much but Brendon can see he’s crying, red eyes shining with every lamppost they pass as the tour bus drives into some town in Florida. Brendon knows Ryan’s sad. Ryan’s the saddest person Brendon’s ever met. He doesn’t always show it, but Brendon’s sure of this, so much so, that he even tells Ryan.

 

Ryan just lets out a choked laugh and mutters, “Sounds about right.”

 

“I don’t care, though,” Brendon says, with only the purest innocence shining in his words. “I want to fix you, Ryan.”

 

This must spark something in Ryan because he’s suddenly squeezing Brendon tighter and letting out a sob. Brendon thinks that he might start to cry too.

 

“I love you.”

 

Brendon pauses, definitely catching the change in words on Ryan’s part. He knows what he just heard. Of course he has. He’s only been waiting for Ryan to say it to him for the past few years. Brendon wants to hear it again, though, so he goes, “What?”

 

“I love you too, Brendon,” Ryan says clearer this time. “I really fucking love you.”

 

Brendon can’t think of a moment he’s ever been happier.

 

***

Yet another show. Toronto. Big stage, small crowds, bright lights, and even less hope for their future. Ryan’s to Brendon’s right, like usual, and he’s stiff, also like usual.  He keeps making off-handed comments, voice raw and deep like it always is during shows. It’s probably to keep himself from looking weak at a time like this. It’s always about his goddamn reputation.

 

It’s not like Keltie breaking up with him was a surprise, or even should be. Sure, Brendon didn’t find out for almost five months, but Keltie should have found out the first night Ryan cheated.

 

Ryan’s good at keeping secrets, always has been. It’s not that he even lies, he just knows how to get out of telling people what he’s up to and how he feels. He’s not even sure how to tell people these things. Since he’s never learned, not when he was younger and his mother sat him down in the living room and demanded to know what was wrong, or when his father pushed him aside while they were at a family reunion and asked Ryan to tell him why he’s acting like this, he just doesn’t know how to.

 

When the set finishes, all Brendon wants to do is talk to Ryan, figure out what’s going on between them. Ryan must be on the same page because he grabs Brendon towards the shower, completely ignoring everyone backstage.

 

Ryan told Brendon that he loved him. Fucking _loved_ him.

 

Brendon watches with wide eyes as Ryan closes the door and starts to take off his stage clothes in front of Brendon. He remembers when Ryan would’ve been too embarrassed for this, when he cover his bony torso with his equally bony arms. Now, though, he just shrugs off his shirt and gives Brendon a dark look before walking over to him.

 

“God, I’m so horny,” Ryan says breathily, pushing his body up to Brendon’s.

 

He pulls Brendon in for a kiss, letting out a low moan as he sucks on Brendon’s bottom lip. Brendon should be pushing him off, declaring that he doesn’t want to be some rebound, no matter how much he wants Ryan, but he can’t do it. Brendon’s waited forever for this.

 

Brendon lets Ryan take his clothes off, starting with his shirt and ending with his boxers. Brendon’s not embarrassed anymore, either. He once was, just like Ryan, but they’re older now. They don’t need to be embarrassed.

 

Ryan leads them to the shower, already turned on, the spray too hot against Brendon’s skin. It’s really the least of his worries, though, because Ryan has pushed up against the cold tiling, hand on his dick, moving up and down teasingly slow.

 

“You look so good, Brendon.”

 

Ryan loves dirty talk.

 

“If we had the time, I’d fuck you here, Brendon.”

 

Brendon freezes just a little, just enough for Ryan to notice. Ryan and Brendon don’t fuck. They’ve only once. Now, after Keltie is finally out of the picture, Ryan wants to fuck him. Of course.

 

“I love you, Brendon.”

 

Brendon doesn’t know what to do, so he moans out, “I’m close.”

 

And Ryan, the suave motherfucker he is, goes, “I know.”

 

***

Brendon hums something old under his breath as he makes his way into Ryan’s house. The doors are open like usual, and Brendon feels like he’s getting home from work, waiting to sit down at the table for a meal with Ryan and a glass of wine. Brendon’s even tempted to yell, “Honey, I’m home!” so that he can explain all of this to Ryan, about how happy he is to be with Ryan _finally_.

 

He quietly looks around the house, slipping his shoes off at the door right next to Ryan’s, hoping maybe to sneak up on Ryan, to catch him reading or watching TV. There’s a distant thumping noise coming from the back of the house, where Ryan’s room and his bathroom are, and Brendon furrows his brows and walks in the direction.

 

He doesn’t think much about just barging into Ryan’s room because it’s almost like it’s his room too now. There’s regret. Red hot regret flashes through him the second the door gets opened, his smile faltering too much when the view in front of him is revealed.

 

It’s Ryan, stretched over a box-kit-blonde girl, legs possessively wrapped around hers. She has her hands on his back, nails poised over the flesh, waiting to scratch down as Ryan pushes into her. Her eyes are closed, eyelashes too long against her cheek to be real, so she doesn’t notice Brendon’s entrance.

 

 _Brendon_ doesn’t want to notice his entrance.

 

This is when it starts to crumble. Where Brendon’s last hope is taken away from him by another blonde in off-brand stilettos and wrists like twigs. Where Brendon realizes that of course everyone was right. Where Brendon doesn’t want to believe that everything he needs lies in another person who can’t even keep a promise.

 

And maybe it’s not the end, but it’s definitely when it starts to crumble.

 

***

Ryan and Brendon spend their time in Africa as far apart from each other as possible.

 

Brendon still feels sick just thinking of when he found Ryan sleeping with that girl after he told Brendon that he loved him, on multiple occasions. Ryan said they were exclusive. He told Brendon that they were finally in a relationship. He practically made all of Brendon’s dreams come true and then he ripped it away, like it was nothing.

 

He doesn’t even know why he believed it all. Ryan’s never been honest. The idea that Ryan could actually date someone without fucking other people is incredibly ludicrous.

 

It kills Brendon to be stuck with Ryan now on a tour, their words so clipped that Spencer and Jon make a point to keep them separated. Brendon tries to look like he’s honestly fine, and that Ryan didn’t completely tear him apart, his heart fucking bleeding out of his chest.

 

Ryan doesn’t need to pretend to be okay because Ryan is never okay so no one expects him to be.

 

Brendon’s always happy. People know him for being a jittery ball of energy. So Brendon puts on his best smile and walks around like there is absolutely nothing wrong. Right on cue, just after the fans have all disappeared and they’re all back in their hotel rooms, Brendon and Ryan both click off at the same time, usually hiding out in their rooms and staring at the ceilings until Spencer or Jon makes something to eat.

 

The tension only grows worse when they get back to the states. Ryan stays with Jon, and Spencer stays with Brendon, and Brendon tries to make music, wanting to piece something together to show Jon or Spencer but it doesn’t happen.

 

Brendon sees it coming. Everyone did. It’s only Spencer who gets the balls to tell Ryan that maybe it’s time they just called it quits. When Spencer tells Brendon how Ryan reacted, that he completely agreed, Brendon ends up punching the wall, his fist ending up bloody, only a slight dent in the wall. Spencer watches as Brendon slumps on the ground, the tears from the pain mixing with the tears of realization that the band is really over.

 

“Spencer,” Brendon whimpers. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t—can’t write like Ryan. I can’t make my own band.”

 

Spencer just stares down at him, looking frustrated. “Well, it’s not like the band’s gonna work now.”

 

Brendon doesn’t miss the way he says it, pointed at him, like it’s all _Brendon’s_ fucking fault why this is happening. Brendon partly knows he’s right, but the music wasn’t working either. They spent too much time arguing when they were writing music. The music is the problem, it’s not—

 

“What did you think was going to happen, Brendon?” Spencer says, leaning against the wall and sighing. “Did you really think that Ryan would love you? That he wouldn’t sleep with other people? You’ve known him too long to ever expect those things.”

 

Brendon doesn’t want to be reminded, God, he really tries to forget about the whole mess, but here is Spencer, saying it all _out loud_.

 

Spencer watches as Brendon wipes tears from his face, no doubt rubbing some blood from his knuckle onto his nose, right under his eyes, and goes, “It’s pathetic, really.”

 

Brendon jumps up at this, throwing a punch at Spencer with his bloody knuckles not even grazing the side of Spencer’s face before Spencer has him pinned to the ground, punching Brendon back with enough force to keep him from fighting back.

 

Brendon pinches his nose, blood now coming out and mixing with what was already on his face. “Okay, fuck, Spencer, just,” Brendon whines, pushing away from Spencer.

 

Spencer gets up, shakes his hand around, wincing and then saying, “Get your shit together, Brendon,” before leaving Brendon to lie on the ground and cry more.

 

***

The club bathroom is shitty and smells like urine and vomit. Brendon runs a hand through his hair as he stares at his reflection briefly before he splashes some water onto his face. He must spend too much time staring at himself, though, because some asshole hisses, “Faggot” to Brendon before leaving the bathroom.

 

And, God, really hit the nail on the head with that one, buddy.

 

When Brendon turns around, face still wet from the water, he can see the group of people crowded around a corner. Brendon knows this game already. This isn’t his first time clubbing in Vegas. He kind of wishes it was, though, because his first time clubbing was a lot more fun than this.

 

He’s not addicted to the cocaine. It’s not like he’s trying to find a dealer and collecting business cards when he hands over crinkled twenties for a little pouch of white powder. He just like the way it makes him feel. It’s better than thinking.

 

Ryan used to tell him that kind of stuff right before he left to go to the bathroom. Brendon never understood. Ryan, the sob story kid who had enough tragedies to fill his entire head, the one who very explicitly stayed away from drugs and alcohol for so long, the one who really shouldn’t, being who he is, but always ends up doing it.

 

Brendon thinks about how he used to try cigarettes all the time when he was younger, smoked them half-heartedly to impress all of the wrong people, until one day he inhaled all the nicotine and he realized he couldn’t wait until the next party for another chance to smoke and he found himself in a gas station asking for a pack of Marlboros with a hesitant voice.

 

He knows there’s no way cocaine could turn into that.

 

Brendon does a line. Then another. And then he lets his head buzz for a few seconds, his eyes slipping closed as he practically vibrates. He starts to feel okay again, ends up dropping what’s left of the white powder to the ground and then walking off into the club.

 

The lights seem too bright, the music too loud, and it only makes Brendon want to dance and forget about everything. He finds himself in a sea of people, girls dancing up on him, not minding when his hands find their hips and pull them closer.

 

Brendon thinks that this is enough, that this is all he really needs. He doesn’t need anything Ryan can give him. He doesn’t need his love. He doesn’t want it. Not anymore. He’s perfectly fine on his own. Everyone wants him, and no one is going to turn down Brendon.

 

***

Brendon can’t breathe.

 

His manager, Bill, is staring at him suspiciously, even if he’s seen Brendon like this already. Too many times now. If he would just shut the fuck up for two seconds, then maybe Brendon wouldn’t need to grip the side of his chair and consciously remember how to breathe.

 

“I think you’re being impulsive, Brendon,” Bill says sagely, now looking down to the agenda on his desk, flicking the pages nonchalantly.

 

Brendon’s not being impulsive, though. Being impulsive would require never thinking about what it is he’s doing. Brendon wishes that was the truth, but he’s thought about this. He can’t just keep going, writing his own music and pretending that everything didn’t fall to pieces.

 

Ryan and Jon used to joke about Brendon’s music and point out the especially bad lyrics. Brendon doesn’t know how to write full songs, he’s never needed to. He’s always had Ryan to finish them and to write the words he was going to sing.

 

And, fuck, what Brendon would do to have them back, for things to be normal again.

 

Bill goes, “The producer will help you. Why do you think we pay him so much? Plus, you have as long as you need to write your songs. As long as you plan on releasing them. You know how Crush is.”

Brendon looks down to his hands. Oh God, they’re going to start hounding Brendon soon. All the big officials of the record company will start sending him cheery emails inquiring about the next big album. Pete will get on his case soon, too. He’d hate to see another band go.

 

“I can’t do it,” Brendon finally says, still staring down to his hands that seem so fucking useless right now.

 

Spencer barges into the room before Bill can even say anything else. He’s late. Nothing new there. Brendon watches as Spencer scans the room, starting at Bill and ending on Brendon. He sighs and rolls his eyes, sitting down next to Brendon on the sofa.

 

“I’m trying, Spencer,” Bill says. “He’s not listening. I’m trying to explain that it will get better and he has as long as he needs and—“

 

Brendon’s used to this. Used to when people just talk about him like he isn’t there. Like they think they know about Brendon than Brendon does. He’s listening, though. He’s heard the whole fucking pitch already.

 

“Brendon,” Spencer says firmly, forcing eye contact as he places a gentle hand on Brendon’s thigh. “It’s okay, man.”

 

Brendon doesn’t mean to look over at Bill, but he does. Bill has seen him worse than this, has seen him angry and kicking walls, and sad and crying, and this really shouldn’t be a problem, but Brendon doesn’t know how to trust people anymore.

 

Bill leaves after Spencer does that demanding thing with his eyes, and suddenly it’s just Spencer and Brendon, which isn’t really as surprising as it was before.

 

“I know you’re scared,” Spencer tells Brendon.

 

Brendon doesn’t want people to know he’s scared. Spencer does, though, and there’s no way to convince him otherwise.

 

“You don’t need Jon,” he pauses cautiously. “And Ryan. You don’t need either of them. You don’t even need me, Bren. You know how to write music, okay? You’ve been doing it your whole life.”

 

Sure, Brendon has always been writing music, but he’s never done it alone. When he was younger, and all he knew how to play was the piano, he always had his parents to help him, guide his fingers on the keys. Then he got a little older, had an acoustic guitar, and asked his siblings for help, asked them to give him ideas. Then he had Ryan, and he did everything for Brendon. The only thing Brendon had to do was sing, and Brendon knows how to sing. Always has. Brendon doesn’t know how to write music all by himself.

 

“It won’t be the same,” Brendon insists weakly. “Just think of all the shit reviews we’re going to get. They’re going to kill us. Worse than before.”

 

Brendon’s still recovering from some of the particularly hurtful remarks they got on Pretty Odd.

 

Spencer sighs once more. Brendon makes him sigh a lot. He watches with sad eyes as Spencer gets up, retrieves one of Brendon’s acoustic guitars that’s been hanging around, and hands it to him. He fetches one of the yellow notebooks off Bill’s desk and fishes a pen out from one of the drawers, and also hands that to Brendon.

 

“You’re not realizing how much better writing will be now,” Spencer tells him calmly. “You won’t have to deal with anyone’s opinions anymore. Just write for yourself, Brendon. Get it all out of your system, okay?”

 

It’s only then that Brendon realizes that he’s not on a chain anymore.

 

Spencer leaves the room. Brendon listens to the silence for a few moments and then puts his fingers onto the fret board of the guitar.

 

He can do this. He can be completely honest, let everything out, really fucking kill it and prove Ryan and Jon that he doesn’t need them. Or anyone. He can write his own music. He doesn’t need anyone.

 

***

“That was nice,” Brendon admits to Shane once they’re in the car, away from everyone else for just a minute.

 

“You okay to drive?” Shane asks offhandedly, giving him a serious look.

 

Brendon nods, sticking the keys into the ignition to prove he really is. He didn’t even finish his beer, paralyzed by the fear that Ryan would somehow catch onto the fact that Brendon’s turned into an alcoholic of sorts since Ryan and Jon’s departure. Brendon doesn’t want that image; he wants Ryan to be jealous of everything he is now.

 

“You were okay with it then? Seeing him?” Shane asks then, as they’re driving away from the bar, giving him a hopeful look.

 

“Yeah,” Brendon says casually, the smile on his face faltering only a little. “It feels like I haven’t seen him in forever. It went well, though.”

 

Brendon catches the way that Shane looks proud, turning to look out the window and sing along to the song that’s playing quietly on the radio.

 

Shane and he decided last minute to go to a bar, spend some time together before Brendon needed to go back on tour for the new album. Of course, out of all the bars in LA, Ryan happened to be there, all by himself. Shane had flagged him over, excitedly telling Ryan about _Vices & Virtues_ and the tour and how fucking successful Brendon was since Ryan left him.

 

Ryan didn’t seem high or drunk, and spent most of the time listening and congratulating Brendon with his monotone voice rising in that way it does when he’s being sincere. Brendon would have rather had him drunk so that he might’ve said something out of line, so that Brendon would have had a reason to lash out at him. He desperately wanted a reason to not stop resenting Ryan.

 

Ryan only acted like an old friend who has finally realized what it was he did wrong.

 

Brendon’s grip on the steering wheel noticeably tightens as he thinks about the night. It was fine. Nothing happened. Brendon spent the entire time feeling sick and sloshing around the beer in his hand, praying to a god that he didn’t believe in since he was twelve that Ryan couldn’t hear the way his voice shook when he talked directly to him.

 

“Brendon?”

 

Shane was giving him a long look. Brendon licks his lips and thinks that he needs to just breathe and he definitely needs to not cry in front of Shane _again_.

 

“I’m fine,” he mutters, switching on the turn signal and not thinking about Ryan.

 

He can’t help it. Brendon also can’t but think that Ryan was looking good again, wearing another one of his countless suits, hair growing out, but not too long. Brendon only hates himself a little for not wearing something more sophisticated and intimidating.

 

Brendon just want to show Ryan that he’s grown up, that he’s independent and he doesn’t need anyone to direct him everywhere anymore, and he probably didn’t even do that and—

 

He embarrassingly wipes at tears that managed to escape his eyes. He’s not doing this again, always fucking crying about Ryan, fuck, he just wants to stop.

 

“Look, Bren,” Shane starts again.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Brendon repeats, voice cracking, giving him away, but he’s obviously not fine.

 

Brendon could tell, when he was about to leave, that Ryan was waiting for something, that he was too proud to just ask Brendon for his new number or ask him to hang out again soon. Brendon held his breath the entire time Shane hugged Ryan and told him to call Shane sometime, but Ryan wouldn’t say anything to Brendon.

 

All Brendon wanted was to crumple against Ryan and beg him to try it again, that it will be better this time, that things have obviously gotten better, but Brendon just shakes his hand awkwardly and gives him a last smile before leaving.

 

Ryan was almost his. Brendon realizes that it’s always been _almost_ , nothing more than that.

 

Brendon lets out a choked noise, his whole chest suddenly contracting and the pointless tears falling from his eyes again.

 

“Goddamit, Brendon, pull over,” Shane yells.

 

He finally does, putting the car into park on the side of the road. He lies his head down on the steering wheel and starts to sob, his whole body racked with shakes. Shane puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and whispers something about how it was okay for Brendon to be acting like this, like crying after seeing Ryan is just the casual aftermath.

 

“I want to hate him so much,” Brendon finally says when his throat feels like it can finally process words again. “I can’t…I just fucking. He still. I—“

 

Brendon had him. He had him for only a little while, but, fuck, he wishes it would have never ended.

 

***

When Brendon sits down to write his fourth album, he’s alone. Technically, he has Dallon and Spencer to help him, but Brendon mostly feels alone. Brendon doesn’t really like to write songs with other people, or at least the skeletons of the songs. He can ask for help when he’s finished, when the lyrics are mostly done and he’s got a rough demo recorded on his laptop, then he can ask for help. While he’s writing, though, he’s the only person he has to deal with.

 

He’s okay with writing by himself now. He’d _rather_ write all by himself. He remembers writing the third album and having issues even writing one song because he’d spend too much time critiquing it, Ryan’s voice always pointing his flaws out.

 

Brendon’s confident now. He’s not bruised like he was. He knows he can write, that people will like his stuff even if he doesn’t have Ryan’s lyrics or Jon’s help. He decides that he doesn’t really need to use Ryan’s technique of hiding everything he wants to say with poetic masks, and Brendon just says what he wants to say. He can be honest now.

 

Before the album comes out, Brendon gets married and he doesn’t even have time to think about Ryan  Ross or his past because he doesn’t really need to. This only boosts up his confident even more when they’re finishing up the recording process. One night, when Brendon’s coming home from the studio with dinner, he sits across from Sarah and tells her about the album.

 

“I just wanna be honest, you know,” he mumbles, poking the noodles with his chopsticks. “I’m not really scared anymore.”

 

Sarah hums in what must be agreement. “You should then.”

 

“I just think it’s time I…” he pauses, looking up at Sarah. “I finally came out. Well, not, like, all the way. Just kind of talked about it. I have an idea for a song.”

 

Sarah nods, understands better than any person Brendon’s ever talked to.

 

For a while after Ryan, Brendon was scared that he would never find anyone who would understand, that he would be eternally alone because of how he once felt for his own best friend, that people wouldn’t understand that Brendon wasn’t sure what he wanted sometimes.

 

Now, though, Brendon figures it’s time to be honest with everyone, and not just Sarah.

 


End file.
